OUE  NATIVE  LAND: 


OR, 


GLANCES   AT  AMERICAN    SCENERY  AND   PLACES, 


WITH 


SKETCHES    OF    LIFE    AND    ADVENTURE. 


WITH  THREE  HUNDRED  AND   THIRTY-SIX  ILLVSTRATIOSS. 

NEW  YORK: 
D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY, 

1,  8,  AND  5  BOND  STREET. 


.  O 


COPYRIGHT  BY 

D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY, 

1882. 


4°  0-5-8 
Bancroft  Library 


PREFACE 


THE  striking  features  of  American  scenery,  society,  industry,  and  social  life  have 
more  and  more  stamped  themselves  on  the  interest  of  the  world  during  the  last  half- 
century.  For  many  years  this  curiosity  on  the  part  of  intelligent  Europeans  was 
retarded  by  a  reluctance  to  accept  the  phases  of  civilization  in  the  New  World  at 
their  full  worth.  Discussion  of  the  great  empire  which  had  grown  up  on  the  West- 
ern Continent  was  pointed  with  a  sneer  at  what  was  rude  and  crass  in  our  social 
forms  and  the  ferment  of  a  political  life,  the  bottom  impulse  of  which  was  at  odds 
with  those  that  vitalized  methods,  habits,  and  beliefs  in  Europe. 

Since  our  late  civil  war,  foreign  opinion  has  shaped  itself  into  a  new  and  more 
serious  attitude.  The  great  influx  of  travel  has  crowded  every  nook  and  corner  of  our 
country  with  keen  and  competent  observers,  whose  reports  have  been  for  the  most 
part  fair  and  just  in  intention,  and  comprehensive  in  treatment.  The  feeble  snarl  has 
been  lost  in  big  notes  of  amazement  and  pleasure  at  the  wonders  scattered  profusely 
by  the  hand  of  Nature,  and  the  no  lesser  marvels  wrought  by  the  energy  of  man. 
The  possession  of  a  standard  of  comparison,  too,  has  had  its  use  in  giving  forei'gh'^books 
on  America  something  of  the  vivid  and  picturesque  not  easily  attainable  otherwise. 

A  common  reproach  addressed  to  intelligent  Americans  abroad  is,  that  they  have 
seen  so  little  of  their  own  country,  their  critics  forgetting  that  the  country  is-  so  vast 
in  extent  that  some  of  its  most  wonderful  scenery  is  difficult  of  access.  Iforeigners 
coming  to  America  as  tourists,  on  the  other  hand,  with  the  express  purpose  o.f  -.milking 
themselves  acquainted  with  the  striking  aspects  of  life  and  nature  which  it  fuinishss, 
travel  with  a  distinct  end  in  view,  while  the  journeys  of  the  American  in  his  own 
country  are  naturally  limited  for  the  most  part  by  the  exigencies  of  business  or  the 
bounds  of  a  short  summer-tour  for  himself  and  family.  It  is  the  purpose  of  the 
present  volume  to  bring  together  intelligent  and  animated  descriptions  of  the  more 
picturesque  and  sublime  phases  of  scenery  in  our  great  country,  interspersed  with  epi- 
sodes of  travel  and  adventure,  and  glances  at  some  of  the  great  industries  which 
present  aspects  interesting  to  the  imagination  as  well  as  to  the  sense  of  utility.  No 
attempt  has  been  made  to  follow  any  consecutive  order  in  the  narrative.  So  the  reader 
may  fancy  himself  on  the  magical  carpet  celebrated  in  the  "Arabian  Nights,"  which 
whisked  the  traveler  from  place  to  place  and  from  scene  to  scene  with  the  swiftness 
and  caprice  of  fancy  itself. 


\ 


CONTENTS 


THE  CANONS  OF  THE  COLORADO         .........        8 

Major  Powell's  expedition  down  the  Colorado  River  in  boats — Sketch  of  the  perils  and  results  of  his 
previous  journey  in  1871-'72 — The  canons  of  the  Green  River,  one  of  the  sources  of  the  Colorado — The 
Colorado  proper  and  its  stupendous  walls — Marble  Canon — The  wonders  of  Grand  Canon — A  river 
with  walls  nearly  seven  thousand  feet  high — Interesting  Indian  tribes,  the  Moquis  Pueblos,  the  dying 
remains  of  a  lost  civilization. 

THE  HUDSON  RIVER     ...........      31 

Characteristic  features  of  river  scenery — The  Palisades — Tarrytown,  its  traditions  and  associations — 
The  home  of  Washington  Irving — The  Highlands — The  legendary  interest  of  the  region — West  Point, 
our  great  military  school — How  the  cadets  live  and  study — The  charms  of  West  Point  and  its  surround- 
ings— The  scene  of  Drake's  "  Culprit  Fay  " — The  story  of  the  poem,  and  how  it  was  suggested — The 
literary  associations  of  the  region  about  Cornwall — Idlewild,  the  home  of  N.  P.  Willis — Newburg  and 
its  surroundings — The  Catskills,  and  their  charm  as  a  summer  resort — The  upper  Hudson — A  river  cele- 
brated throughout  the  world  for  its  beauty. 

SOENEKY    OF   THE    PACIFIC    RAILWAYS. — PART    I.       OMAHA    TO    OoDEN  .  .  .  .64 

The  noblest  scenery  of  the  West  adjacent  the  great  transcontinental  lines— A  bird's-eye  view  of  some 
of  the  greatest  natural  wonders  of  the  world — The  former  sufferings  of  emigrants  over  a  long  and  dreary 
trail— The  present  luxury  of  travel  over  the  same  route — Omaha,  the  eastern  terminus  of  the  Union 
Pacific — The  first  glimpse  of  the  Western  Plains— Cheyenne  and  its  surroundings — A  typical  Western 
town  in  its  growth — The  Black  Hills — The  Great  Laramie  Plains — Twilight  in  the  desert — Incidents  of 
railway-travel — The  great  dividing  ridge  of  the  continent — The  wonderful  color  and  shapes  of  the  rocks — 
The  marvels  of  Red  Canon — Green  River — The  Uintah  Mountains — Gilbert's  Peak — -Hayden's  Cathedral 
— The  wonderful  church— Buttes  of  Wyoming— The  borders  of  Utah — Utah  the  home  of  much  of  the 
noblest  Western  scenery — A  desert  turned  into  a  garden  by  irrigation — Early  Mormon  life — Echo  Canon 
and  its  great  precipices— Weber  Canon— Lofty  walls  of  rock  painted  by  Nature  in  the  richest  colors  and 
carved  in  every  variety  of  shape— All  this  region  once  a  grand  internal  ocean — The  Thousand-Mile  Tree 
and  the  Devil's  Slide — The  Devil's  Gate  and  Ogden  Canon. 

SCENEBY    OF   THE   PACIFIC    RAILWAYS. — PART    II.      OoDEN   TO   SAN   FRANCISCO  .  .  .96 

Ogden  and  its  strange  types  of  life — Salt  Lake  City — The  Great  Salt  Lake — The  junction  of  the  Cen- 
tral and  the  Union  Pacific  roads — Nevada,  the  desert  State — The  Sierra  Nevadas — The  valley  of  the 
Truckee  River— Lake  Tahoe— Virginia  City— Donner  Lake  and  its  tradition— The  western  slope  of  the 
Sierras — The  great  snow-sheds — Blue  Canon  and  Giant  Gap — Water  as  a  means  of  mining — Cape  Horn — 
The  Sacramento  Valley — Sacramento  and  San  Francisco. 

A  GLIMPSE  OF  THE  FAR  NORTHWEST  ........     125 

.  Characteristics  of  scenery  in  Washington  Territory — Luxuriant  primitive  beauty  and  wildness — 
Strange  mixture  of  civilization  and  barbarism — The  principal  towns  of  the  Territory — Early  traditions 
and  history — Forests,  lakes,  and  mountains — The  future  of  Washington  Territory — Characteristics  of 
the  water-falls  of  the  far  Northwest — Cascades  and  cataracts  in  Oregon — Snoqualmie  Falls,  Washington 
Territory— Shoshone  Falls,  Idaho — Sioux  River  Falls— Falls  of  the  Missouri. 


vi  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

THE  YELLOWSTONE  VALLEY    ..........     148 

A  wonderland  of  the  West — Interesting  traditions  and  adventures — The  journey  into  the  valley — 
Mammoth  Hot  Springs  and  Mud  Springs — The  Mud-Volcano — The  Falls  and  Grand  Canon — Wonders 
of  the  Fire-Hole  River— The  Lower  Geyser  Basin— The  great  attraction  of  the  Yellowstone  Park— The 
geysers  of  the  Upper  Basin — The  Giant  and  Giantess — Theory  of  geyser  eruptions — The  Yellowstone 
Lake. 

SKETCHES  OF  INDIAN  LIFE      .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .179 

The  red-man  of  the  plains— The  Indian  dandy  at  the  trading-post— How  the  post-trader  treats  the 
savage— Condition  and  traits  of  Indian  women — An  Indian  carnival — Religion  and  customs — Funerals, 
and  the  Indian  reverence  for  the  dead — Love-making — The  Indian  as  a  hunter — Methods  of  pursuing 
the  elk — Buffalo  and  moose  hunting — Getting  salmon  on  the  Columbia  River — The  craft  and  skill  of 
the  red-man. 

SCENES  IN  NEVADA  AND  OREGON       .........     203 

Features  of  Nevada  scenery — The  Sierras  and  their  forests— Characteristics  of  the  mountains — Val- 
ley of  the  Truckee  River — The  Sierras  of  Nevada — The  desolation  of  the  plains — Humboldt  Mountains — 
The  beauty  and  fertility  of  Oregon — A  voyage  up  the  Columbia  River — Castle  Rock  and  Cape  Horn — 
The  Cascades  and  Dalles  City— Salmon  Falls. 

STJMMEE  HAUNTS  BY  THE  SEA  .........     225 

Striking  characteristics  of  the  upper  New  England  coast — The  cliffs  of  Grand  Manan — Mount  Desert 
and  its  remarkable  fascinations — Sea-shore,  forest,  mountains,  and  lakes  happily  united — The  Eastern 
Shore — From  Portland  to  Portsmouth— The  Isles  of  Shoals  and  their  traditions — Quaint  old  historic 
towns — Nahant  and  Swampscott — Newport,  the  queen  of  American  watering-places — Its  former  commer- 
cial glory  and  historic  importance — The  ocean  scenery  about  Newport — Social  life  at  Newport — Coney 
Island,  the  antipodes  of  Newport — A  typical  democratic  watering-place. 

OUB  INLAND  PLEASURE-PLACES          .........     261 

Among  the  Catskills — Saratoga  and  its  life — Lake  George  and  Lake  Champlain — Lake  Memphrema- 
gog— The  White  Mountains— Trenton  Falls— The  lakes  of  Central  New  York— Watkins  Glen— Niag- 
ara Falls — The  beauties  of  the  Thousand  Islands — The  Saguenay  River — Minor  watering-places  of  the 
interior — Put-in-Bay  — Lake  Erie. 

THE  GREAT  LAKES      ...........     295 

Buffalo,  the  head  of  our  inland  seas— The  historic  interest  of  Lake  Erie — Cleveland,  Toledo,  and 
Sandusky — Lake  Huron — The  Straits  and  Island  of  Mackinae — The  western  shore  of  Lake  Michigan — 
Chicago  and  Milwaukee — The  situation  and  grandeur  of  Lake  Superior — The  Pictured  Rocks ;  the 
varied  wonders  of  its  shores — History  and  legend — The  Hudson  Bay  Company — Mining  on  Lake  Su- 
perior. 

THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  THE  NORTH         .........     325 

Some  characteristic  scenes  in  the  White  Mountains — Mount  Mansfield  and  the  Green  Mountains 
of  Vermont — The  Adirondack  region  of  New  York — Mountain,  lake,  forest,  river,  and  water-falls,  most 
picturesquely  blended — The  Catskills  and  their  peculiarities — The  Delaware  Water-Gap — The  Blue 
Ridge  of  Pennsylvania — The  beauties  of  the  Juniata  region— Mauch  Chunk,  the  most  picturesque  of 
mountain  towns. 

THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  THE  SOUTH          .........     364 

The  mountains  of  Virginia — Harper's  Ferry  and  its  surroundings — The  Peaks  of  Otter — North  Caro- 
lina scenery — The  highest  mountain  of  the  Atlantic  coast — The  Linville  Range — Mount  Pisgah — The 
French  Broad  and  its  beauties — Cherokee  traditions — Alum  Cave,  Smoky  Mountain — Cumberland  Gap — 
Lookout  Mountain,  Tennessee— Mountain-scenery  in  Georgia — The  valley  of  the  Owassa— Tallulah 
Chasm. 

THE  LAND  OF  ORANOE-GROVES          .........     398 

The  American  Italy — Situation  and  climate — Jacksonville — A  trip  up  the  St.  John's  and  the  Ockla- 
waha— St.  Augustine :  its  history  and  traditions — The  St.  Augustine  of  to-day— The  gardens  and  fruits 


CONTENTS.  vii 

PAGE 

of  Florida — The  banana,  and  how  it  grows — The  orange-culture — Florida  vegetation — The  "  cracker  " 
clasa — The  principal  points  of  interest  in  the  State — Key  West — Indian  Eiver — Hunting  in  Florida — 
Lake  Okechobce — The  Everglades. 

COLORADO         ............     432 

The  mountains  of  Colorado — The  city  of  Denver — Boulder  Canon — Mountain  mining  cities — Idaho 
Springs  and  Georgetown — The  ascent  of  Gray's  Peak — Monument  Park  and  the  Garden  of  the  Gods — 
Colorado  Springs  and  Pike's  Peak — The  natural  parks  and  their  characteristics. 

THE  YOSEMITE  ............     461 

Approaches  to  the  Yosemite  Valley — How  it  was  discovered — The  big  trees  of  Mariposa — Descent 
into  the  valley  by  the  Mariposa  trail — The  Bridal  Veil  Fall  and  Cathedral  Rocks — Sentinel  Rock  and 
Dome — Yosemite  Falls — The  inhabitants  of  the  valley — The  gorge  of  the  Merced — Tcnaya  Canon — View 
from  Cloud's  Rest — Accommodation  for  visitors. 

THE  LOWLANDS  OF  THE  SOUTH  .........     477 

South  Carolina  scenery — Early  settlements  of  the  State — Charleston — The  rice-culture — Savannah — 
Characteristics  of  a  lovely  Southern  city — The  lowlands  of  Alabama — -The  forest-wilderness  of  Pasca- 
goula — The  mouth  of  the  Mississippi — Romantic  history  of  the  Father  of  Waters — The  Mississippi 
below  New  Orleans — The  cypress-swamps — New  Orleans,  the  "  Queen  of  the  South  " — Sketches  of  life 
in  New  Orleans — Mississippi  navigation — The  magnolia-forests  and  Spanish  moss — The  sugar-plan- 
tations—Characteristic  impressions  of  the  lower  Mississippi— Inundations  and  crevasaes— The  cotton 
industry. 

THE  OHIO  AND  UPPER  MISSISSIPPI     .........     515 

The  beginning  of  the  Ohio  at  Pittsburg — Early  history  of  the  river — Characteristics  of  the  river  and 
its  navigation  — The  interesting  towns  on  its  borders — Ohio  and  Kentucky — The  early  romance  of  Ken- 
tucky history— Cincinnati,  the  "  Queen  of  the  West " — The  city  of  Louisville — The  junction  of  the 
Ohio  and  Mississippi — St.  Louis  and  its  more  astonishing  features — The  mineral  wealth  of  Missouri — 
The  upper  Mississippi — Its  peculiarities  as  distinguished  from  those  of  the  lower  river — Rock  Island  and 
Davenport — The  beautiful  scenery  of  the  river — Quaint  Dubuque — La  Crosse — Features  of  river-naviga- 
tion— Trempealeau  and  Lake  Pepin — St.  Paul  and  the  State  of  Minnesota — Head-waters  of  the  river. 

THE  METROPOLIS  AND  ITS  EASTERN  SISTERS  ........     548 

The  situation  and  approaches  of  New  York — Commercial  and  industrial  greatness — Scenes  in  lower 
New  York — Characteristics  of  Broadway — Social  life  in  New  York — The  water-front  -  Central  Park  and 
its  attractions — Boston  and  its  early  colonial  history — Importance  as  a  commercial  and  manufacturing 
center — Boston  Common — Characteristics  of  the  various  portions  of  the  city— Suburbs  of  Boston — The 
City  of  Brotherly  Love — Its  position  among  American  capitals — Scenes  and  features  of  interest— The 
beauties  of  Fainnount  Park — Baltimore  and  its  situation — Principal  features  of  the  city — Its  monuments 
and  its  pleasure-grounds — The  political  center  of  our  country — Its  foundation  and  beginnings — The  na- 
'tional  Capitol — The  White  House  and  other  public  buildings — Characteristics  of  Washington  life. 

OUR  NATURAL  RESOURCES     ..........      588 

Extent  and  diversity  of  the  United  States— Its  advantages  of  coast-line,  rain-fall,  and  internal  water- 
ways— The  great  cereal  crops,  wheat,  corn,  etc. — Their  annual  product  and  value — Possibilities  of  the 
future — The  cotton,  rice,  tobacco,  and  sugar  States — Statistics  of  production — Our  annual  fruit-crops — 
The  tbrests  of  the  country — Present  condition  of  the  lumber  industry — The  enormous  possibilities  of 
the  Pacific  coast  in  lumber — Coal  production  in  America— Our  iron-mines — Coal  and  iron  only  in 
their  infant  development— The  yield  of  the  precious  metals — How  gold  and  silver  are  distributed — 
Our  deposits  of  copper,  lead,  quicksilver,  and  the  minor  metals — Petroleum-oil  and  ito  distribution — 
Enormous  value  of  our  sea-fisheries — Importance  of  fish-culture — Mackerel,  cod,  shad,  herring,  salmon, 
etc. — The  oyster-beds  of  American  waters — Total  value  of  our  fisheries — Our  resources  capable  of  twenty- 
fold  their  present  production. 

APPENDIX  :    STATISTICS  OF  POPULATION  AND  AREA       ......  607 

I.  Population  of  one  hundred  of  the  largest  cities  and  towns  in  the  United  States.  II.  Census  by 
States  at  each  census,  1790-1880.  III.  Statistics  of  area  in  square  miles. 

INDEX  OF  PLACES  .  611 


LIST    OF     ILLUSTRATIONS. 


THE  CASONS  OP  THE  COLORADO : 

Echo  Rock  ...........3 

Start  from  Green  River  Station         ........  4 

Horseshoe  Cafion  ..........       7 

Cafion  of  Lodore        .  ..  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  9 

Bonita  Bend          .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .10 

Light-House  Rock     .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .11 

Running  the  Rapids         ..........     13 

Marble  Cafion  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .15 

Head  of  Grand  Cafion      ..........     17 

Grand  Cafion,  looking  down  ........  20 

View  in  Grand  Cafion      ..........     23 

Grand  Cafion,  showing  Amphitheatre  and  Sculptured  Buttes          ....  25 

Street  in  a  Moquis  Village  .........     27 

Navajo  Indians  ..........  29 

THE  HUDSON  RIVER  : 

Day -Boat  leaving  New  York        .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .31 

View  of  the  Palisades  from  Eastern  Shore    .......  32 

A  Pinnacle  of  the  Palisades        .........     33 

Palisade  Mountain  House       .........  34 

Yonkers    ............     35 

Sunnyside       ...........  36 

Nyack       ............     37 

Tarrytown      .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  38 

Old  Dutch  Church,  Sleepy  Hollow          ........     39 

Old  Bridge,  Sleepy  Hollow    .........  41 

Palisades  above  Nyack,  with  Distant  View  of  Sing  Sing  .  .  .  .  .42 

Croton  Point  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  43 

Stony  Point  and  Haverstraw  Bay  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .43 

Entrance  to  the  Highlands     .........  44 

lona  Island  and  Anthony's  Nose  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .45 

View  from  Fort  Montgomery  ........  46 

Sugar-Loaf  Mountain. — A  Storm  in  the  Highlands        .  .  .  .  .  .47 

Cozzens's  Hotel  and  Buttermilk  Falls,  West  Point  .  .....  48 

West  Point  ...........     50 

View  at  West  Point,  north  from  the  Artillery-Grounds      .....  51 

West  Point,  from  Fort  Putnam  .........     53 

Cold  Spring,  from  Constitution  Island          .......  54 

Breakneck  Mountain,  from  Little  Stony  Point    .  .  .  .  .  .  .55 

Under  the  Cliff  of  Cro'  Nest  ........  56 

Cro'  Nest  and  Storm-King  from  Cold  Spring    .  .  .  .  .  .  .57 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


The  Highlands,  from  Cornwall        ........ 

The  Highlands,  south  from  Newburg   ........ 

Catskill  Mountains,  from  Tivoli       ........ 

The  Hudson  at  Glens  Falls        ......... 

Source  of  the  Hudson          ......... 

SCENERY  OF  THE  PACIFIC  RAILWAYS: 

The  Union  Pacific  Depot  at  Omaha       ........       65 

The  Platte  River,  near  North  Platte  .......  68 

Black  Hills,  near  Sherman         .........       69 

Maiden's  Slide,  Dale  Creek  .........  70 

Red  Buttes,  Laramie  Plains       .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .71 

Emigrants'  Camp,  Laramie  Plains  ........  72 

Elk  Mountain     .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .74 

Banks  of  the  Platte  River   .........  75 

View  on  the  Platte  River  .........       76 

Giants'  Butte,  Green  River .  .  .  .    •  .  .  .  .  77 

Cliffs,  Green  River          ..........       78 

Uintah  Mountains     ..........  80 

Church  Buttes,  Wyoming          .........       82 

Bear  River  Valley     ..........  84 

Echo  Canon,  Utah          ..........       85 

Castle  Rock,  Echo  Canon     .........  86 

Pulpit  Rock,  Echo  Canon  .........       87 

Hanging  Rock,  Echo  Canon  ........  88 

Weber  Canon     .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .89 

Devil's  Slide,  Weber  Canon  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .    90 

The  Witches'  Rocks,  Weber  Canon       ........       92 

The  Devil's  Gate,  Weber  Canon       ........  98 

Ogden  Canon      ...........       95 

Ogden,  and  the  Wahsatch  Range    ........  96 

Salt  Lake  City,  from  the  Wahsatch  Range        .......       97 

Black  Rock,  Great  Salt  Lake  ........  99 

Bear  River,  Utah  ..........     101 

Great  Salt  Lake,  from  Promontory  Ridge    .  .  .  .  .  .  .102 

Indian  Camp  in  the  Great  American  Desert      .......     102 

Humboldt  Wells  and  Ruby  Mountains         .......  103 

Devil's  Peak,  Humboldt  Palisades         .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .104 

Lake  Tahoe 106 

Donner  Lake,  from  the  Snow-Sheds      ........     109 

Donner  Rock  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .110 

Lake  Angeline    .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .111 

Emigrants  crossing  the  Sierras         .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  112 

Lower  Cascade,  Yuba  River      .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .113 

Cedar  Creek,  Blue  Canon     ........  114 

Giant's  Gap,  American  Canon    .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .115 

Great  American  Canon         ...'....  116 

Hydraulic  Mining,  Gold  Run     .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .117 

Cape  Horn    .........  118 

Lake  Merritt,  Oakland  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .     120 

San  Francisco,  from  Goat  Island     ........  121 

Central  Pacific  Wharf    .  .  .....  .122 

The  Cliffs,  and  Cliff  House,  San  Francisco  ......  122 

Chinese  Quarter,  San  Francisco  .....'..  .     128 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS.  xi 


A  GLIMPSE  OP  THE  FAR  NORTHWEST: 

New  Tacoma,  Mount  Rainier  in  the  Background   .  .  .  .  .  .125 

Olympia,  on  Puget  Sound          .  .  .  .  .  .  .  •  .127 

Cascade  Range,  from  Puget  Sound  .......  128 

Scenery  of  Puget  Sound  .......  •     131 

Snoquahnie  Falls     .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .133 

Saw-Mill,  Port  Gamble  ........  .135 

Rogue  River  Falls    ..........  136 

Falls  of  the  Willamette  .........     138 

Southern  Side  of  Willamette  Falls  .  .  .  .  .  .  .139 

Palouse  Falls      ...........     140 

Spokane  Falls  ..........  142 

Shoshone  Falls,  Snake  River     .........     145 

Island  Falls,  Snake  River    .........  146 

THE  YELLOWSTONE  VALLEY: 

The  Yellowstone  River  ..........     148 

Map  of  the  Yellowstone  National  Park       .......  149  • 

Cliffs  of  the  Yellowstone  .........     151 

Mammoth  Hot  Springs        .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  154 

Liberty  Cap        ...........     156 

Mud  Springs  .........  158 

Grand  Canon  of  the  Yellowstone  ........     161 

Upper  Falls  of  the  Yellowstone      ........  162 

Column  Rocks    ...........     164 

Lower  Falls  of  the  Yellowstone       .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .165 

Tower  Falls        ...........     168 

The  Great  Geyser  Basin        .........  169 

The  Giantess      ...........     171 

The  Giant  Geyser     .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .172 

Yellowstone  Lake  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .175 

Hot-Spring  Cone      .........  177 

SKETCHES  OF  INDIAN  LIFE  : 

Indian  Dandy     .         '    .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .     180 

Store  of  the  Trading-Post    .........  182 

Women  Water-Carriers  . .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .     183 

Indian  Women  Bathing        .........  184 

Frontier  Fort      .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .186 

Indian  Funeral          ..........  188 

Indian  Widow  at  her  Husband's  Grave  .......     189 

Indian  Lovers  ..........  191 

Hunting  the  Elk  ..........     193 

Indians  Elk-Hunting  in  Masquerade  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  194 

Indians  Buffalo-Hunting  in  Masquerade  .  .  .  .  .  .  .195 

Hunting  the  Buffalo  on  Foot  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .196 

Catching  Salmon  in  the  Columbia  River  .  .  .  .  .  .  .197 

Killing  the  Snow-bound  Moose       ........  199 

SCENES  IN  NEVADA  AND  OREGON  : 

Column  Mountains,  Nevada       .........     203 

Summits  of  the  Sierras         .........  206 

Pyramid  Lake,  Nevada  .........     208 

Star  Peak,  Nevada  .  .  .  . '          .  .  .  .  .  .209 

Lake  in  the  Humboldt  Range,  Nevada  .......     210 


xii  LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 


Sculptured  Canon,  Humboldt  Range,  Nevada        ......  211 

Granite  Bluffs  in  Wright's  Canon,  Humboldt  Range,  Nevada  .  .  .  .213 

Castle  Rock              ..........  215 

The  Cascades     ...........  216 

Mount  Hood             ..........  218 

Salmon  Falls      ...........  219 

Corvallis       ...........  222 

Yaquina  Bay       ...........  224 

SUMMER  HAUNTS  BY  THE  SEA  : 

Grand  Manan            ..........  226 

Castle  Head,  Mount  Desert        .........  228 

Cliffs  at  Mount  Desert          .........  230 

The  "  Spouting  Horn  "  in  a  Storm        ........  233 

Cliffs,  Portland  Harbor        .........  234 

Isles  of  Shoals    ...........  235 

A  Picnic  at  the  Isles  of  Shoals         ........  237 

Caswell's  Peak,  Star  Island       .......  .239 

Bass  Rocks,  Gloucester        .........  240 

Cedar-Tree  at  Cape  Ann             .........  242 

Marblehead  ...........  243 

Pulpit  Rock,  Nahant     ..........  245 

Cottage  and  Shore  at  Nahant           ........  240 

Old  Fort  Dumpling,  Newport   .........  247 

Scenes  at  Newport   ..........  248 

The  Drive           ...........  250 

The  Walk  on  the  Cliff          .........  251 

A  Newport  Cottage        ..........  253 

Narragansett  Pier     ..........  254 

Scenes  at  Coney  Island               .........  257 

Scenes  at  Coney  Island        .........  258 

The  Drive  at  Long  Branch        .........  260 

OUR  INLAND  PLEASURE-PLACES  : 

Catskill  Mountain-House      .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .261 

View  of  the  Catskills     .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  '.  .263 

Scenes  at  Saratoga   ..........  264 

Scenes  at  Lake  George                .........  267 

Lake  George,  from  Glens  Falls  Road          ......  268 

Lake  Champlain,  from  Fort  Ticonderoga          .....                         .  270 

Split  Rock,  Lake  Champlain            .......  271 

Lake  Memphremagog     ........ 

Mount  Washington,  White  Mountains        .......  274 

Trenton  Falls     .........  .277 

A  Nook  near  the  Foot  of  Lake  Canandaigua          ......  280 

Entrance  to  Watkins  Glen          .........  281 

Glen  Cathedral 282 

Horseshoe  Falls,  Niagara           .........  284 

Rapids  above  the  American  Fall     ........  285 

Cave  of  the  Winds,  Niagara      .........  287 

Among  the  Thousand  Islands          ........  289 

Point  Crepe,  Saguenay  River    .........  291 

Put-in-Bay,  Lake  Erie          .........  292 

Kelly's  Island,  Lake  Erie            .........  294 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS.  xiii 


THE  GREAT  LAKES : 

Light-House,  Buffalo            .........  295 

Ship-Canal,  Buffalo        ..........  297 

Mouth  of  Cuyahoga  River,  Cleveland          .......  299 

Lake  Erie,  from  Bluff,  Mouth  of  Rocky  River  .......  300 

Perry's  Lookout,  Gibraltar  Island   ........  304 

Detroit  Uiver,  from  Fort  Wayne  (below  the  City)         ......  306 

Scene  on  the  Shore  of  Mackinac      ........  309 

Lover's  Leap       .                                      ........  312 

Mouth  of  the  Chicago  River            ........  314 

Shore  of  Lake  Michigan            .........  317 

Sail-Rock,  Lake  Superior     .........  319 

Grand  Portal,  Lake  Superior     .........  320 

Island  No.  1,  Lake  Superior            ........  323 

THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  THE  NORTH  : 

White  Mountains,  from  the  Conway  Meadows              ......  325 

Gate  of  the  Crawford  Notch            ........  327 

Profile  Mountain            ..........  329 

The  Flume   ...........  330 

Mount  Kearsarge             ..........  333 

Monadnock  Mountain,  from  North  Peterboro          ......  334 

Confluence  of  Saco  and  Swift  Rivers,  Conway               ......  337 

East  Mountain,  from  Robbe's  Hill,  Peterboro         ......  338 

Glimpse  of  Lake  Champlain,  from  Mount  Mansfield     ......  340 

The  Adirondack  Woods       .........  343 

The  Ausable  Chasm        ..........  344 

Gothic  Mountain,  from  Ausable  Lake          .......  346 

The  Adirondacks,  from  Placid  Lake     ........  348 

A  Carry  near  Little  Tupper  Lake     ........  349 

Catterskill  Falls                           .........  351 

Sunset  Rock,  Catskill  Mountains     ........  353 

Delaware  Water-Gap      ..........  355 

View  from  Horseshoe  Curve,  Kittanning  Point  (Early  Morning)  ....  358 

In  the  Pack-saddle,  on  the  Conemaugh              .......  361 

THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  THE  SOUTH  : 

Harper's  Ferry          ..........  364 

Loudon  Mountain  and  the  Shenandoah              .......  366 

Peaks  of  Otter          ..........  369 

Lookout  Point    ...........  371 

Linville  River            ..........  373 

Linville  Pinnacle            ..........  374 

Mount  Pisgah           ..........  377 

The  French  Broad          ..........  379 

Cliffs  on  the  French  Broad                ........  381 

Hawk's-Bill  Mountain    ..........  383 

Alum  Cave,  Smoky  Mountain          ........  387 

Cumberland  Gap,  from  Eagle  Cliff        .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .390 

View  from  Lookout  Mountain          ........  393 

View  on  the  Owassa       ..........  394 

Tallulah  Chasm,  Georgia     .........  396 


xiv  LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


THE  LAND  OF  OKANGE-GROVES : 

St.  John's  River,  Florida  .........  398 

Night  Scene  on  the  Ocklawaha  River          .......  401 

A  Florida  Swamp  ..........  403 

A  Scene  on  the  Ocklawaha  River    ........  404 

View  on  the  Upper  St.  John's  .........  407 

The  City  Gate,  St.  Augustine          ........  409 

Watch-Tower,  St.  Mark's  Castle  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .411 

A  Street  in  St.  Augustine    .........  413 

A  Florida  Garden  ..........  414 

The  Date-Palm         ..........  416 

Growth  of  the  Banana-Leaf  and  of  the  Fruit    .......  418 

A  Florida  Orange-Grove      .........  420 

A  Palmetto-Grove          ..........  421 

Florida  Pine-Barrens  .........  423 

Light-House  on  Florida  Keys    .........  424 

Indian  River  ..........  425 

A  Hunter's  Camp  ..........  427 

Lake  Okeechobee     ..........  428 

An  Island  in  the  Lake    ..........  430 

COLORADO : 

A  Glimpse  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  .......  432 

Glen  Doe  ...........  434 

Long's  Peak  ..........  435 

Mouth  of  South  Boulder  Canon  ........  437 

Boulder  River  ..........  438 

The  Falls,  North  Boulder  Cation  ........  439 

Dome  Rock,  Middle  Boulder  Canon  .......  440 

Idaho  Springs     ...........  442 

Georgetown  ..........  443 

Clear  Creek,  below  Georgetown  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  444 

Green  Lake  ...........  445 

Gray's  Peak        ...........  447 

Snake  River  ...  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .448 

Clear  Creek  Canon          ..........  449 

Pike's  Peak  ..........  450 

Monument  Park  ..........  452 

Tower  of  Babel,  Garden  of  the  Gods  .......  453 

Major  Domo,  Glen  Eyrie  .......  •  454 

William's  Canon       ..........  456 

Rainbow  Falls,  Ute  Pass  .........  458 

The  Snow-clad  Peaks  of  the  Rocky  Mountains       .....  460 

THE  YOSEMITE  : 

Half  Dome,  from  the  Merced  River       ........  461 

Descent  into  the  Valley        .........  463 

Yosemite,  from  Mariposa  Trail  ........  465 

Valley  Floor,  with  View  of  Cathedral  Spires          ......  467 

Sentinel  Rock  and  Fall  ..........  469 

The  Yosemite  Falls  .........  471 

Gorge  of  the  Merced       ..........  473 

General  View  of  Yosemite,  from  Summit  of  Cloud's  Rest  .....  475 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS.  xv 


THE  LOWLANDS  OF  THE  SOUTH  : 

A  Live-Oak  on  the  Ashley          .........  477 

Glimpse  of  Charleston  and  Bay        ........  479 

Ashley  River      ...........  481 

Unloading  Rice-Barges        .........  483 

On  the  Savannah  River              .........  485 

A  Savannah  Street-Scene     .........  486 

A  Home  on  the  Pascagoula        .........  490 

At  the  Mouth  of  the  Mississippi      ........  492 

A  Cypress  Swamp           .            .            .            .            ...            .            .            .            .  494 

New  Orleans,  from  the  River           .            .            .            .            .            .            .            .  496 

A  Magnolia  Swamp       ..........  501 

Gathering  Spanish  Moss       .........  503 

Cutting  the  Sugar-Cane              .........  504 

A  Mississippi  Bayou             .........  507 

A  "  Crevasse  "  on  the  Mississippi  River            ........  508 

Gathering  Cotton     ..........  512 

A  Planter's  House  on  the  Mississippi     .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .514 

THE  OHIO  AND  UPPER  MISSISSIPPI  : 

The  Ohio  River,  below  Pittsburg    ........  515 

The  Ohio  River,  from  Marietta              ........  519 

Vineyards  on  the  Hill-sides              ........  521 

Cincinnati            ...........  522 

View  on  the  Rhine,  Cincinnati        ........  524 

Louisville,  from  the  Blind  Asylum        ........  527 

The  Upper  Mississippi,  near  St.  Louis         .......  529 

St.  Louis             .             .             .             .            .            .            .            .            .            .            .  531 

Eagle  Bluff,  near  Dubuque  .........  535 

At  the  Mouth  of  the  Wisconsin              ........  538 

Scenery  above  La  Crosse      .........  540 

Approach  to  Trempealeau          .........  541 

Lake  Pepin  ...........  543 

Near  St.  Paul 544 

Falls  of  Minnehaha               .........  546 

THE  METROPOLIS  AND  ITS  EASTERN  SISTERS  : 

New  York,  from  Fort  Wadsworth,  Staten  Island         .  .  .  .  .  .548 

View  of  New  York  from  the  Bay     ........  550 

Broadway,  south  from  the  Post-Office               .             .            .            .            .            .            .  553 

Scene  on  Fifth  Avenue         .........  555 

View  of  the  Bay  from  the  Battery         ........  557 

The  Mall,  Central  Park  '   .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .561 

The  Obelisk,  Central  Park        .........  564 

View  of  Boston  from  the  Harbor     ........  566 

Public  Garden,  Boston  ..........  568 

Boston,  from  Mount  Bowdoin         ........  570 

Chestnut  Street  Bridge,  on  the  Schuylkill        .  .  .  .  .  .  .572 

Tower,  Independence  Hall,  Philadelphia    .......  574 

Fairmount  Water-Works           .........  576 

View  on  the  Schuylkill         .........  57? 

Washington  Monument,  Baltimore        ........  370 

1 


xvi  LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Baltimore,  from  the  East 


PAGE 

581 
583 


The  Capitol  at  Washington 
The  White  House     ....••• 
Treasury  Department     ...••• 
War  and  Navy  Building      . 


OUR    NATIVE     LAND. 


THE   CANONS   OF  THE  COLORADO. 

Major  Powell's  expedition  down  the  Colorado  River  in  boats — Sketch  of  the  perils  and  results  of  his  previous 
journey  in  1871-'72 — The  canons  of  the  Green  River,  one  of  the  sources  of  the  Colorado — The  Colorado  proper 
and  its  stupendous  walls — Marble  Canon — The  wonders  of  Grand  Canon — A  river  with  walls  nearly  seven 
thousand  feet  high — Interesting  Indian  tribes,  the  Moquis  Pueblos,  the  dying  remains  of  a  lost  civilization. 

NATURE  has  strewed  over  the  North 
American  Continent  her  boldest  mas- 
terpieces of  beauty  and  sublimity,  but 
nowhere  has  she  wrought  more  won- 
derful works  than  in  the  canons  of  the 
Colorado  River.  The  walls  of  these 
canons  are  for  more  than  a  thousand 
miles,  where  they  rear  themselves  in 
perpendicular  cliffs,  never  less  than  a 
thousand  feet  high.  The  Grand  Canon 
is,  for  a  distance  of  two  hundred  miles, 
at  no  point  less  than  four  thousand  feet 
deep.  This  the  adventurous  explorer, 
Major  Powell,  calls  "  the  most  profound 
chasm  known  on  the  face  of  the  globe." 
In  the  years  1540-'42  expeditions  sent 
out  from  Mexico  reported,  on  their  re- 
am, the  discovery  of  a  "  river  with  banks  nine  miles  deep,  and  so_  steep  that  the 
'ater-level  could  not  be  reached."  Two  hundred  and  thirty-four  years  later  (1776), 
'adre  Escalante,  a  Spanish  priest,  with  about  one  hundred  followers,  was  the  first  to 
wk  upon  the  Grand  Canon  at  the  point  now  known  as  the  "  Old  Ute  Crossing," 
at  named  originally  by  Escalante  " Vado  del  Padre,"  or  "Priest's  Ford."  -Esca- 
inte's  graphic  description  is  as  follows:  "A  rock,  when  lying  in  the  river  and  seen 
•om  the  cliff,  appeared  no  larger  than  a  man's  hand ;  but,  when  the  descent  of  more 
lan  a  mile  vertical  had  been  made  to  the  water-level,  it  was  found  to  be  as  large  as 
\e  cathedral  at  Seville."  The  map  constructed  by  the  padre  still  shows  clearly  the 
Dint  at  which  he  crossed. 


Echo  Bock. 


4  OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 

Fremont  and  Whipple  had  seen  the  canon,  and  Ives,  in  his  expedition  of  1857- 
'58,  saw  the  Kanab,  one  of  its  largest  branches  ;  but  it  was  not  till  Major  Powell': 
voyage  of  exploration,  in  1869,  that  the  river,  hitherto  practically  almost  as  unknowr 
as  the  sources  of  the  Nile,  was  revealed  in  all  its  wonders  to  the  world.  The  sam< 
intrepid  explorer  made  a  second  expedition,  under  the  auspices  of  the  Government,  ii 
1871,  and  added  fresh  material  for  wonder  to  the  results  of  his  earlier  voyage.  In  m 


titart  from   G-reen-Rictr  Station. 

way  can  the  marvels  of  the  Colorado  River  be  more  vividly  presented  than  by  follow 
ing  the  adventurous  exploits  of  the  last  Powell  expedition. 

The  Colorado  River  is  formed  by  the  junction  of  the  Green  and  Grand  Rivers,  ii 
the  eastern  part  of  Utah,  from  which  it.  flows  southward  into  the  Gulf  of  California 
From  Green  River  Station,  which  is  the  point  of  departure,  the  distance  by  the  cour* 
of  the  stream  to  the  junction  of  the  rivers  is  a  little  more  than  four  hundred  :uu 
eighty-eight  miles.  The  caflons  begin  very  soon  after  leaving  the  railway,  and  iucreas 


THE  CANONS   OF  THE   COLORADO.  5 

in  grandeur  till  they  reach  their  climax  in  the  Grand  Caflon  of  the  Colorado  Eiver. 
The  juncture  of  the  two  rivers  pours  into  the  mighty  gorges  of  the  Colorado  a  flood 
of  waters  equal  in  volume  to  the  flow  of  Niagara.  The  canons  on  Green  River, 
before  it  unites  with  the  waters  of  the  Grand,  are  known  successively  as  Horseshoe, 
Flaming  Gorge,  Kingfisher,  Red,  Lodore,  Whirlpool,  Yampa,  Desolation,  Gray,  Laby- 
rinth, and  Stillwater.  Those  on  the  Colorado  proper  are  Cataract,  Narrow,  Glen, 
Marble,  Grand,  and  Kanab  Canons. 

The  Powell  expedition,  whose  journey  we  are  about  to  retrace,  explored  a  water- 
route  of  about  four  hundred  miles  on  the  Green  River  and  nearly  five  hundred  miles 
on  the  Colorado.  The  journey  was  made  in  boats,  each  containing  three  water-tight 
compartments,  in  which  were  packed  provisions,  instruments,  extra  clothing,  etc.,  and 
the  party  consisted  of  eleven  persons.  They  started  from  Green  River  City  on  May 
22,  1871,  and  the  swift  current  of  the  Green  River,  gliding  at  the  rate  of  ten  miles 
an  hour,  soon  hurried  them  from  friendly  sight  onward  toward  unknown  perils. 

The  first  fifty  miles  ran  through  an  undulating  sage-brush  country,  whose  only 
advantage  was  found  in  the  abundance  of  game,  deer,  antelope,  otter,  and  beaver  offer- 
ing themselves  at  every  turn  to  the  hunter's  rifle.  Until  the  arrival  at  Flaming  Gorge, 
there  were  no  caflons,  but  at  this  point  massive  cliffs  began  to  show  themselves,  her- 
alding those  stupendous  gorges  which  were  later  to  amaze  the  eye  and  imagination 
with  a  vertical  ascent  of  nearly  a  mile  and  a  half.  Seven  days  after  starting,  the 
party  reached  Horseshoe  Caflon  without  any  accident  more  than  the  upsetting  of  one 
of  the  boats,  and  the  penalty  of  wet  jackets  for  the  crew.  At  Horseshoe  Caflon 
the  scenery  begins  to  approach  the  sublime.  The  walls,  composed  of  beautiful  red 
and  yellow  sandstone,  rise  vertically  to  the  height  of  nearly  two  thousand  feet.  Six 
miles'  journey  through  the  Horseshoe,  during  which  time  there  were  many  upsets  and 
impromptu  baths  in  the  swift  rapids,  landed  the  party  in  a  charming  little  valley 
appropriately  called  "The  Hunter's  Paradise."  Rich  green  turf,  countless  beautiful 
flowers,  deliciously  cool  springs  embowered  in  deep  groves  of  box-elder  and  cotton- 
wood,  herds  of  deer,  antelope,  and  mountain-sheep  roaming  in  fearless  innocence,  made 
a  graceful  and  fascinating  picture.  After  spending  two  days  in  this  Elysium,  our 
travelers  embarked  again,  and  soon  entered  Red  Caflon,  so  called  from  the  brilliant 
vermilion  hue  of  its  walls.  Here  the  perils  of  the  journey  began  in  dead  earnest. 
Let  us  take  a  leaf  from  the  diary  of  one  of  the  party,  which  gives  one  a  vivid  idea  of 
their  experiences  : 

"  To-day  our  hard  work  and  lively  times  commenced.  Pulled  out  into  the  stream 
at  7  A.  M.  Ran  four  very  bad  rapids  in  going  one  mile,  then  landed  to  bail  out  the 
boats,  which  were  nearly  full  of  water.  After  making  everything  secure  again,  started 
out,  and  soon  came  to  a  sudden  bend  in  the  river.  The  water,  having  worn  a  passage 
far  under  the  rocks,  sucked  everything  into  it  like  a  whirlpool.  In  passing  the  corner, 
the  Nellie  Powell  was  drawn  under  by  this  mighty  current-force  and  capsized.  The 
crew  narrowly  escaped  drowning,  but  managed  to  reach  the  shore  without  great  damage, 
and  soon  had  the  boat  in  trim  for  another  trial. 


6  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

"  The  Emma  Dean  also  struck  a  wall  and  carried  away  a  rowlock,  but  the  Oanonita 
rounded  the  turn  successfully,  and  her  crew  came  out  flapping  their  wings  like  youiu 
roosters.  One  mile  farther  on  we  passed  four  fearful  rapids,  through  which  the  1- 
plunged  at  a  terrific  rate,  each  nearly  filling  with  water.  The  walls  of  rock  are  clos- 
ing in  as  if  to  immerse  us  in  a  monster  tomb,  and  a  certain  terror  fastens  on  a  man'-; 
vitals  as  the  grim  shadows  deepen,  yet  life  itself  seems  not  to  fascinate  so  much 
that  unknown  water-track  beckoning  us  on. 

"  Camped  at  11  A.  M.  for  dinner  amid  the  most  awful  solitude  one  can  imagine, 
the  walls  of  the  caflon  rising  on  either  side  to  the  height  of  two  thousand  feet 
Pulled  out  again  at  2  p.  M.  ;  found  the  river  very  rough  ;  ran  one  mile,  shipph 
large  quantities  of  water,  and  came  to  the  first  rapid  that  had  as  yet  successfully  dis 
puted  our  passage.  Here  we  made  our  first  portage,  unloaded  the  Emma  Dean,  and 
carried  the  things  over  the  rocks  on  our  shoulders,  letting  the  boat  down  with  roj 

"  The  other  boats  made  the  passage  in  the  same  way,  but  without  unloading  their 
cargoes.  All  hands,  wet,  cold,  and  hungry,  camped  on  the  same  spot  that  the  party 
of  1869  did  just  two  years  ago  to-day.*  The  current  of  the  river  is  very  swift  her 
running  twenty  miles  an  hour.  Remained  in  this  camp  two  days  for  the  purpose 
taking  topographical  observations  of  the  rivers  and  mountains  and  obtaining  viev 
and  pitched  our  next  camp  on  what  we  christened  Ant  Island,  from  the  myriads 
these  industrious  little  insects  that  infested  it,  and  which  overran  us  and  our  fo 
with  surprising  alacrity.  At  this  point  we  passed  an  old  boat  with  quite  a  little  hi>- 
tory  of  its  own.  It  was  left  here  in  1869  by  a  party  of  Green  River  miners  on  their 
way  to  Brown's  Hole.  This  company  started  several  weeks  after  the  Powell  party  of 
the  same  year ;  but,  not  using  the  same  care  and  precaution,  they  were  wrecked  near 
this  island,  and  lost  one  of  their  number  by  drowning;  and  so,  satisfied  with  the 
beauties  of  navigation,  they  abandoned  their  boat,  took  to  the  mountains,  and  arrived 
at  their  destination  after  three  weeks  of  laborious  toiling  and  climbing,  having  made 
a  distance  of  fifteen  miles,  which  we  accomplished  in  less  than  two  days.  I  mention 
the  above  incident  not  only  from  its  own  interest,  but  as  showing  the  perils  of  such, 
river  navigation." 

Again  we  read  :    "  The  day  has  been  full  of  excitement,  not  unaccompanied  byl 
imminent  danger,  for  we  have  run  twenty  fearful  rapids  in  coming  six  miles.      Imagi-j 
nation  can  not  create  an  enjoyment  so  full  of  nervous  dread  and  daring  as  the  da>h 
through  these  rapids  at  the  rate  of  thirty  miles  an  hour.      One  gets  so  to  love  ill..- 
rush  and   roar  that  to  effect  landings  between,  to  bail  and  make  ready  the  boat 
an  unwelcome  delay,  though  the  physical  man  be  on  the  verge  of  exhaustion." 

Before  entering  on  the  greater  dangers  of  the  canons,  the   Powell  party  spent  a| 
couple   of  days  for  rest  and    preparation  at   the    head    of  a  pretty  park-like   valley 
called  Little  Brown's  Hole,  so  called  from  an  old  trapper  who  had  once  lived  the  life 
of  an  anchorite  at  this  spot.      Fragrant  mountain  roses  and  luxuriant  grass  carpeted 
the  earth,  and  made  a  delightful  contrast  to  the  savage  grandeur  of  towering  walls 

*  Referring  to  Major  Powell's  first  expedition,  two  years  before. 


THE  CANONS   OF  THE  COLORADO. 


Hwaeshoe  Canon. 


through  which  they  had  passed,  and  which  they  were  to  witness  in  still  more  start- 
ling forms  of  Nature's  handiwork.  The  river  flows  onward  from  this  spot  for  about 
thirty-five  miles  through  this  charming  Eden  set  iu  the  mountains,  full  of  lovely 


8  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

\ 

scenery,  that  rests  and  soothes  the  eye  and  fancy.  Groves  of  cotton-wood  alternate 
with  sweeps  of  meadow,  and  everywhere  are  seen  grass  and  flowers.  Two  miles  back 
on  either  side  the  mountains  tower  four  thousand  feet  toward  the  clouds,  their  snow- 
capped summits  glistening  in  the  sun  like  burnished  silver,  and  contrasting  beautifully 
with  the  vegetation  and  colored  rocks  at  their  base.  This  lovely  valley,  surrounded 
by  high  and  almost  inaccessible  mountains,  is  hardly  known  even  to  the  hunter,  so 
difficult  of  access  is  it  except  by  boat. 

After  emerging  from  the  open,  sunny  valley  into  the  gloomy  shadows  of  the  great 
walls,  a  few  hours'  time  brings  our  party  of  tired  voyagers  to  the  head  of  the  far- 
famed  Caflon  of  Lodore,  appropriately  named  from  Southey's  poem,  "  How  do  the 
Waters  come  down  at  Lodore  ?  "  This  caflon  is  very  narrow  at  its  entrance,  being  only 
one  hundred  and  fifty  yards  wide.  The  walls,  rising  perpendicularly  to  the  height  of 
two  thousand  feet,  consist  of  brilliant-red  sandstone,  mottled  and  rainbow-tinted. 
When  descending,  the  explorer  finds  the  river  falling  one  hundred  feet  to  the  mile, 
and  the  walls  rising  higher  and  higher,  till,  five  miles  farther  down,  at  the  head  of 
Disaster  Falls,  they  reach  the  height  of  three  thousand  feet.  Thus,  shut  in  by  stupen- 
dous walls,  our  party  haul  their  boats  in  close  to  the  beetling  rocks  to  spend  the  night. 
and  get  rested  for  the  perilous  passage  of  the  rapids  on  the  morrow.  It  was  here  that 
Major  Powell  lost  a  boat  and  her  crew,  and  narrowly  escaped  drowning  himself,  in 
1869.  At  Disaster  Falls  a  party  of  daring  trappers,  in  1850,  ignorant  of  what  was 
before  them,  dashed  heedlessly  ahead,  and  were  carried  over  the  cataract,  losing  nearly 
all  their  party.  The  survivors,  one  of  whom  was  Jim  Bridger,  Kit  Carson's  com- 
panion, clambered  up  the  rocks,  and  sustained  life  for  three  weeks  on  berries,  lizards, 
and  snakes,  in  the  attempt  to  extricate  themselves,  which  they  finally  accomplished 
after  desperate  climbing  and  crawling  along  the  face  of  the  terrible  crags. 

Disaster  Falls  consists  of  two  steep  descents,  fifteen  feet  each  in  height,  and  about 
fifty  yards  apart,  below  which,  for  several  miles,  the  river  presents  a  continuous  sheet 
of  boiling  foam.  It  was  deemed  best  to  surmount  this  obstacle  by  a  carry,  which  took 
two  days,  the  boats  being  let  down  by  ropes.  Two  more  carries  were  necessary,  at 
Triplet  and  Bowlder  Falls,  several  miles  below,  and  so  the  whole  passage  of  Lodore 
Caflon  was  accomplished  by  eight  days  of  hard  labor,  the  distance  being  thirty  miles. 

Echo  Park,  where  the  Powell  party  remained  for  a  week,  takes  its  name  from  the 
wonderful  echo  there.  At  first,  total  silence  follows  the  discharge  of  a  gun  ;  then 
suddenly  the  echo  is  heard  far  away,  and  it  is  swiftly  repeated  in  rapid  reverberations 
as  if  leaping  from  glen  to  glen,  growing  louder  and  louder  till  it  culminates  in  a 
thunderous  crash  of  sound.  The  park  is  a  valley  about  a  mile  square,  surrounded  by 
walls  twelve  hundred  feet  high,  and  only  accessible  by  water.  From  this  point  to 
Whirlpool  Canon,  only  a  few  miles,  the  river  makes  a  rapid  descent  of  thirty  feet  to 
the  mile,  and  forms  a  varying  picture  of  rapid  current,  rocky  bowlders,  fathomless 
pools,  and  milk-white  foam.  In  the  heart  of  the  Whirlpool  Caflon  is  a  beautiful  little 
group  of  islands  covered  with  cotton-wood,  on  both  sides  of  which  the  rock-walls  rise 
straight  three  thousand  feet  in  the  air.  The  fanciful  shapes  of  these  dainty  islets. 


THE  CAftONS   OF  THE   COLORADO.  9 

buried  amid  such  weird  and  solemn  surroundings,  give  them  an  aspect  of  something 
uncanny.  The  most  distinct  of  the  optic  resemblances  they  present  is  that  of  a 
schooner  under  full  sail,  but  the  eye  finds  as  many  likenesses  in  them  as  in  the  glow- 


Canon  of  Lodore. 


ing  coals  of  a  Christmas  fire.  On  the  eastern  side  the  shore  is  rich  with  shrubbery, 
where  the  cafion  temporarily  breaks,  and  the  effect  of  sunshine  and  shadow  on  the 
water  is  described  as  being  very  beautiful. 


10 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


Yampa,  also  known  as  Split-Mountain  Canon,  is  a  gorge  from  two  thousand  eight 
hundred  to  three  thousand  five  hundred  feet  in  height,  where  the  river  has  cut  its 
way  into  a  mountain  running  parallel  with  it  for  six  miles.  From  the  summit  of 
the  mountain  a  bird's-eye  view  of  the  whole  length  of  the  caflon  is  obtained,  stretching 
like  a  silver  ribbon  far  into  the  valley  of  the  Uintah  Mountains,  while  on  the  west 
are  seen  the  snow-capped  peaks  of  the  Uintah  range  and  the  valleys  of  Utah.  The 
photographers  of  the  party  climbed  to  the  summit  for  the  purpose  of  taking  obser- 
vations, and,  overlooking  the  giant  gorge,  saw  far  down  its  mighty  depths,  when 

the  boats,  though  two  miles 
down  the  river,  seemed  al- 
most under  the  feet  of  the 
observer,  and  the  voice  of 
Major  Powell  giving  orders 
came  up  as  clear  as  the 
notes  of  a  bugle.  Near  the 
mouth  of  this  caflon  were 
found  carved  on  the  over- 
hanging rocks  picture-writ- 
ings of  the  ancient  Aztecs, 
whose  primitive  seat  is  sup- 
posed to  have  been  some- 
where in  this  region,  repre- 
senting deer,  buffalo,  bear, 
elk,  and  different  kinds 
of  birds,  accompanied  with 
cabalistic  inscriptions,  the  record,  perhaps, 
of  some  great  event  in  'the  history  of  that 
mysterious  race.  It  may  be  remarked  in 
passing,  as  the  reader  sails  with  our  party 

from  caflon  to  caflon,  that  there  is  rarely  a  break  in  the  walls  of 
these  Titanic  gorges,  the  division  being  marked  by  differences  in 
their  geological  structure. 

Approaching  the  head  of  the  Canon  of  Desolation,  the  country 

gradually  rises  along  the  lateral  river-bottoms  until  it  reaches  a  flat  surface.  The 
canon  is  appropriately  named,  for  from  its  top  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach  nothing  is 
visible  but  a  desert  of  sand  and  rock,  interspersed  with  a  few  stunted  cotton-wood 
trees  and  clumps  of  sage-brush.  Our  party  passed  the  first  fifteen  miles  of  the  gorge 
without  a  rapid,  but  soon  the  water  became  shallow  and  dangerous,  and  several  acci- 
dents of  upsets  occurred.  The  walls  are  from  eight  hundred  to  three  thousand  feet 
high,  generally  sloping  backward,  and  the  country  level,  except  where  a  lateral  gulch 
runs  toward  the  river.  The  lower  part  of  Desolation  is  known  as  Cole's  Caflon,  and 
altogether  the  length  is  about  one  hundred  miles.  To  pass  this  caflon  it  was  neces- 


THE  CAftONS   OF  THE   COLORADO. 


11 


sary  to  run  one  hundred  and  twenty  rapids,  and  the  bold  voyageurx  had  many  nar- 
row escapes  from  drowning,  and  were  never  without  wet  jackets.  On  clearing  this 
fatiguing  and  dangerous  passage,  Powell  and  his  men  camped  at  Gunnison's  Crossing, 
so  called  from  a  Captain  Gunnison  who  in  1854  was  killed  hereabout  by  the  Ute 
Indians  while  leading  an  exploring  party.  Before  his  tragic  fate,  it  was  known  as 
Old  Spanish  Crossing,  being  on  the  direct  trail  from  Santa  Fe  to  Los  Angeles. 

Labyrinth  Caflon,  one  of  the  lower  gorges  of  the  Green  River,  has  comparatively 
low  walls,  but  they  are 
perpendicular  and  impass- 
able. Indeed,  from  Gun- 
nison's Crossing,  one  hun- 
dred and  sixteen  miles 
above  the  junction  of  the 
Green  and  Grand  Rivers, 
to  the  running  out  of 
the  Grand  Canon,  a  dis- 
tance of  five  hundred  and 
eighty-seven  miles,  there 
are  only  two  places,  and 
these  but  a  mile  apart, 
where  the  river  and  its 
imprisoning  gorges  can  be 
crossed.  At  one  point  in 
the  Labyrinth  Canon  the 
river  makes  a  long  bend, 
in  the  bow  of  which  it 
sweeps  around  a  huge  cir- 
cular butte,  whose  regular 
and  towering  walls  look  as 
though  they  might  have 
been  laid  by  a  race  of 
giant  craftsmen.  At  a 
distance  the  pile  looks 
like  a  vast  turret-shaped 
fortress  ruined  and  deserted.  This  point  in  the  river  is  known  as  Bonita  Bend. 
Adjoining  this  is  Stillwater  Canon,  which  is,  as  the  name  indicates,  smooth  and 
placid,  undisturbed  by  fall  or  rapid.  , 

Near  this  spot  Major  Powell  found  the  ruins  of  an  ancient  Aztec  city,  deserted 
perhaps  ten  centuries  ago.  The  history  of  this  people,  so  far  as  we  know  it,  is  of 
singular  interest.  They  were  once  a  powerful  nation,  making  and  giving  laws,  peace- 
able, and  inclined  to  agriculture.  They  were  finally  attacked  by  the  nomadic  tribes 
of  the  North,  and  such  as  survived  were  driven  from  their  homes  on  the  plains  and 


Light- House  Rock  in  Canon  of  Desolation. 


12  OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 

forced  to  seek  shelter  in  the  mountain  fastnesses  of  the  rocks  and  river-canons.  Many 
wild  legends  are  told  of  their  struggles  with  the  fierce  red-man,  before  they  succumbed 
— how,  besieged  in  their  natural  fortifications,  they  were  finally  reduced  to  a  few 
hundreds,  who  now  occupy  seven  small  towns,  built  on  high  rocks,  in  Arizona.  This 
residue  is  industrious,  cultivating  the  soil,  raising  flocks  of  sheep,  and  making  pot- 
tery of  no  inconsiderable  artistic  beauty.  Major  Powell  found  many  of  their  houses 
perched  on  ledges  of  rock  several  hundred  feet  up  the  canon-walls.  These  houses 
are  built  of  rocks  filled  in  with  mortar,  and  generally  contain  two  or  three  rooms. 
The  walls  are  covered  with  beautifully  painted  inscriptions,  in  many  cases  represent- 
ing natural  objects  with  not  only  correctness  but  grace  of  outline,  and  showing  a 
notable  degree  of  artistic  taste.  Previous  migrations  of  the  race  are  supposed  to  have 
passed  southward  into  Central  America  and  Mexico,  over  which  latter  country  it 
finally  became  dominant. 

Little  more  than  four  months  after  starting,  the  Powell  party  arrived  at  the  con- 
fluence of  the  two  streams  which  constitute  the  now  famous  Colorado  River.  Let  us 
borrow  the  description  of  the  river  at  this  initial  point  given  by  one  of  the  explorers  : 

"It  is  at  its  source  three  hundred  feet  wide  and  very  deep.  The  canons  rise  six- 
teen hundred  feet  on  either  side,  the  view  from  the  top  being  very  extensive  and 
novel.  As  far  as  the  eye  can  reach,  a  smooth,  flat  rock  spreads  out  in  every  direc- 
tion in  unbroken  monotony,  save  when  and  where  a  butte  or  pinnacle  looks  up  like  ' 
some  stern  guardian  of  the  stony  waste.  Many  of  these  pinnacles  are  from  three 
hundred  to  one  thousand  feet  high,  composed  of  the  most  exquisite  party-colored 
sandstone,  and  cut  and  washed  by  the  sand-storms  into  the  most  grotesque  and  fan- 
tastic forms.  On  some  portions  of  the  plain  they  are  grouped  so  as  to  present  the 
sippearance  of  a  grove ;  others  resemble  ruined  cities  and  castles  in  the  distance,  and 
still  others  are  like  the  mammoths  and  saurians  of  by-gone  ages  quietly  browsing. 
Standing  among  these  weird  piles,  we  were  reminded  of  Irving's  '  Ruins  of  the  Al- 
hambra,'  and  a  strange  feeling,  such  as  the  prophet  might  have  experienced,  returning 
after  a  thousand  years  to  walk  alone  amid  the  desolated  piles  of  Tyre  and  Sidon  and 
the  cities  of  the  plain,  came  over  us.  Some  parts  of  this  table-land,  being  rent  into 
great  fissures,  are  difficult  to  explore.  Climbing  up  and  down  smooth  rocks  at  an 
angle  of  forty-five  degrees  is  a  work  for  tooth  and  nail,  and  it  requires  some  nerve  to 
leap  across  a  chasm  six  or  eight  feet  wide,  so  deep  that  the  bottom  is  not  discernible. 
Often  we  would  stop  and  throw  large  bowlders  down.  For  several  moments  we  could 
hear  them  bound  and  rebound  against  the  sides  ;  then  a  dull  thud  would  announce 
that  they  had  struck  bottom.  A  misstep  in  a  place  like  this  is  something  not  pleasant 
to  contemplate." 

Cataract  Canon,  the  first  great  gorge  on  the  Colorado  proper,  is  about  forty  miles 
long,  and  the  descent  of  the  stream  is  so  great,  and  the  velocity  of  the  water  so 
tremendous,  that  it  can  only  be  compared  to  the  rush  of  an  express-train.  Great 
buttresses  of  the  walls  stand  out  in  the  rushing  flood  at  intervals,  turning  the  swift 
current  into  boiling  whirlpools,  threatening  destruction  to  any  adventurous  voyager. 


THE  CANONS   OF  THE   COLORADO. 


13 


At  the  foot  of  Cataract  Canon  the  walls  of  the  chasm  approach  each  other,  and  for 
a  distance  of  seven  miles  the  flood  pours  through  Narrow  Canon  at  the  speed  of  forty 
miles  an  hour. 

This  dangerous  passage  was  accomplished  by  Powell  and  his  men  after  great  diffi- 
culty and  labor,  and  constant  risk  of  sudden  death.  The  difficulties  of  navigation  in 
some  places  among  the  rapids  are  shown  in  the  fact  that  it  sometimes  took  a  whole 
day  to  go  three  miles.  It  was  very  difficult  to  resist  the  swiftness  of  the  current  and 


Running  the  Rapids. 

go  slowly,  and  exceedingly  dangerous  to  go  any  faster.  The  difficulty  of  running 
these  rapids  is  derived  from  the  fact  that  the  walls,  rising  perpendicularly  from  the 
water's  edge,  prevent  the  use  of  ropes  in  letting  down  the  boats.  Care  and  skill,  how- 


14  OUR    NATIVE  LAND. 

• 

ever,  carried  Powell  and  his  men  through.  Oftentimes  fierce  sand-storms,  driving 
through  the  gorge,  would  threaten  to  sink  their  frail  craft,  and  at  night,  as  they 
tossed  and  swung  on  these  almost  subterranean  waters,  which  hissed  and  boiled  beneath 
them,  the  inky  darkness  made  a  gloom  and  depression  almost  unbearable.  Then,  again, 
gleams  of  light  from  moon  or  stars  would  shoot  down  their  welcome  brightness,  and 
transform  the  foaming  river  into  a  great  phosphorescent  caldron  quivering  with  a 
weird  and  witch-like  movement. 

Just  before  reaching  the  mouth  of  the  Paria  River,  which  empties  into  the  Colo- 
rado, the  party  landed  one  day  for  dinner  near  what  is  called  the  Musical  Temple. 
This  temple  is  a  grotto  extending  five  hundred  feet  into  the  mountain,  with  walls 
three  hundred  feet  high,  and  so  arched  that  the  sky  above  seems  a  vein  of  blue  glass 
running  through  the  rock.  The  entrance  is  narrow,  but  the  diameter  is  at  least  two 
hundred  and  fifty  feet.  A  pool  of  clear,  cold  water  bubbles  up  and  forms  a  rill  bor- 
dered with  flowers  and  running  vines,  and  near  it  a  tiny,  throne-shaped  stone  impresses 
a  full-grown  man  with  the  awkwardness  of  having  invaded  Titania's  bower.  The  rever- 
berations of  voice  are  startling,  and  quite  as  wonderful  as  in  some  of  the  chambers 
of  the  Mammoth  Cave.  Every  sound,  even  to  the  dropping  of  a  small  pebble,  is 
echoed  from  the  nooks  and  crannies  of  the  place,  as  if  a  legion  of  fairies  mocked 
one's  every  movement.  Such  dainty  caprices  of  Nature  as  this  only  made  more  sol- 
emn the  sublime  surroundings  in  which  they  were  set. 

The  junction  of  the  Paria  River  was  the  terminus  of  the  Powell  explorations  for 
the  season,  as  the  provisions  of  the  party  had  given  out,  their  instruments  were  mostly 
lost,  and  the  cold  weather  was  setting  in.  The  rest  of  the  perilous  voyage  was  made 
the  next  year,  the  boats  having  been  carefully  concealed  and  protected  from  the  winter 
storms. 

The  daring  explorers,  on  returning  the  following  season,  passed  through  still  more 
arduous  experiences,  for  the  greatest  of  the  canons  were  yet  to  be  conquered.  The 
most  beautiful  of  the  cafions  begins  at  the  mouth  of  the  Paria,  and  extends  to  the 
confluence  of  the  Little  Colorado  (or  Chiquito,  as  it  is  called  by  the  Indians)  with  the 
greater  river.  This  is  known  as  Marble  Canon,  and  is  sixty-five  and  a  half  miles  long. 
The  walls  are  of  limestone  or  marble,  beautifully  carved  and  polished,  and  the  forms 
assumed  have  a  most  deceptive  resemblance  to  ruined  architecture.  The  colors  of  the 
marble  are  various — pink,  brown,  gray,  white,  slate-color,  and  vermilion.  No  pencil- 
drawing  could  possibly  express  the  beauty  and  grandeur  of  this  gorge — only  the  painter's 
brush  could  reproduce  anything  closely  truthful  to  the  combination  of  the  splendid 
and  terrible  exhibited  in  the  sculpturing,  the  colors,  and  the  awful  depth  of  the  Mar- 
ble Cafion  of  the  Colorado. 

It  will  be  of  interest  to  the  reader  to  get  some  clear  idea  of  the  way  in  which 
these  wonderful  formations  were  wrought.  We  can  not  do  better  than  use  the  words 
of  Major  Powell,  who  has  given  more  study  to  the  subject  than  has  any  other  scien- 
tist :  "  To  a  person  studying  the  physical  geography  of  this  country  without  a  knowl- 
edge of  its  geology,  it  would  seem  very  strange  that  the  river  should  cut  through  the 


THE  CANONS   OF  THE  COLORADO. 


15 


mountains,  when  apparently  it  might  have  passed  around  them  to  the  east  through 
valleys,  for  there  are  such  along  the  nortli  side  of  the  Uintas,  extending  to  the  east 
where  the  mountains  are  degraded  to  hills.  Then  why  did  the  river  run  through 


Marble  Canon 


these  mountains  ?  The  first  explanation  suggested  is,  that  it  followed  a  previously 
formed  fissure  through  the  range  ;  but  a  very  little  examination  will  show  that  this 
is  unsatisfactory.  The  proof  is  abundant  that  the  river  cut  its  own  gorge — that  the 
canons  are  gorges  of  corrasion.  Then  why  did  not  the  river  turn  around  this  obstruc- 


16  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

tion  rather  than  pass  through  it  ?  The  answer  is,  that  the  river  had  the  right  of 
way  ;  in  other  words,  it  was  running  ere  the  mountains  were  formed  ;  not  before  the 
rocks  of  which  the  mountains  are  composed  were  deposited,  but  before  the  formations 
were  folded  so  as  to  make  a  mountain-range.  The  contracting,  or  shriveling,  of  the 
earth  causes  the  rocks  near  the  surface  to  wrinkle,  or  fold,  and  such  a  fold  was 
started  athwart  the  course  of  the  river.  Had  it  been  suddenly  formed,  it  would  have 
been  an  obstruction  sufficient  to  turn  the  water  into  a  new  course  to  the  east  beyond 
the  extension  of  the  wrinkle  ;  but  the  emergence  of  the  fold  above  the  general  sur- 
face of  the  country  was  little  or  no  faster  than  the  progress  of  the  corrosion  of  the 
channel.  We  may  say,  then,  that  the  river  did  not  cut  its  way  down  through  the 
mountains  from  a  height  of  many  thousand  feet  above  its  present  site,  but,  having 
an  elevation  differing  but  little  perhaps  from  what  it  is  now,  it  cleared  away  an 
obstruction  by  cutting  a  caflon,  and  the  walls  were  thus  elevated  on  either  side.  The 
river  preserved  its  level,  but  the  mountains  were  lifted  up ;  as  the  saw  revolves  on  a 
fixed  pivot  while  the  log  through  which  it  cuts  is  moved  along.  .  .  .  The  upheaval 
was  not  marked  by  a  great  convulsion,  for  the  lifting  of  the  rocks  was  so  slow  that 
the  rains  removed  the  sandstones  almost  as  fast  as  they  came  up.  The  mountains 
were  not  thrust  up  as  peaks,  but  a  great  block  was  slowly  lifted  up,  and  from  this 
the  mountain  was  carved  by  the  clouds — patient  artists  who  take  time  to  do  their 
work.  Mountains  are  often  spoken  of  as  forming  clouds  about  their  tops  :  the  clouds 
have  formed  the  mountains.  Lift  a  district  of  granite  or  marble  into  their  region, 
and  they  gather  about  and  hurl  their  storms  against  it,  beating  the  rocks  into  sand  ; 
and  then  they  carry  them  out  into  the  sea,  carving  out  cafions,  gulches,  and  valleys, 
and  leaving  plateaus  and  mountains  embossed  on  the  surface." 

The  Marble  Caflon  runs  out  at  the  junction  of  the  Chiquito  and  the  Colorado,  at 
which  point  the  Grand  Caflon  begins.  The  head  of  the  Grand  Caflon  is  in  the  northern 
central  part  of  Arizona,  and  it  runs  out  in  the  northwestern  part,  lying  wholly  within 
that  Territory.  Its  general  course  is  to  the  west,  but  it  makes  two  great  bends  to  the 
south.  It  is  two  hundred  and  seventeen  miles  long,  and  the  walls  vary  in  height 
from  four  thousand  to  six  thousand  two  hundred  and  thirty-three  feet.  There  are  in 
the  canon  no  perpendicular  walls  more  than  three  thousand  feet  high.  At  that  ele- 
vation from  the  river  the  sides  slope  back,  and  rise  by  a  series  of  perpendicular  cliffs 
and  terraces  to  the  level  of  the  surrounding  country.  In  many  places  it  is  possible  to 
find  gorges  or  side-canons  cutting  down  through  the  upper  cliffs,  by  which  one  may 
approach  to  the  edge  of  the  perpendicular  wall  of  the  river-gorge.  At  three  thousand 
feet  above  the  river  the  chasm  is  only  a  few  hundred  feet  wide.  At  the  highest  eleva- 
tion the  distance  across  is  from  five  to  ten  miles.  At  various  places  the  chasm  is  cleft 
through  the  primal  granite  rock  to  the  depth  of  twenty-eight  hundred  feet.  In  such 
parts  of  the  canon,  which  are  many  miles  of  its  whole  extent,  the  chasm  is  narrow,  the 
walls  rugged,  broken,  and  precipitous,  and  the  navigation  of  the  river  very  dangerous. 

In  no  way  can  so  vivid  an  idea  of  the  Grand  Canon  and  its  wonders  be  so  clearly 
conveyed  as  by  following  in  detail  the  experiences  of  Major  Powell  and  his  party  in 


THE   CANONS   OF  THE   COLORADO. 


17 


o/  Grand  diiion  at  the  Junction  of  the  Chiquito  and  Colorado  Rivers. 


its  exploration.  After  a  rest  of  a  few  days  at  the  mouth  of  the  Chiquito,  where 
Marble  Cafion  ends,  the  intrepid  explorers  embarked  in  their  boats  again,  on  their 
way  down  the  Great  Unknown,  whose  perils  perhaps  they  would  scarcely  have  ventured 
to  face  had  they  fully  known  them  in  advance.  The  first  day  passed  without  incident, 
but  at  daybreak  of  the  second  they  found  themselves  in  the  jaws  of  a  mighty  granite 
gorge,  narrower  than  any  they  had  yet  seen.  The  water  became  exceedingly  swift,  and, 
though  the  channel  was  free  of  broken  rocks,  the  walls  were  set  on  either  side  with 
pinnacles,  crags,  and  sharp  angular  buttresses,  bristling  with  wind-  and  wave-polished 
spires  extending  far  out  into  the  river.  Ledges  of  rock  jutted  into  the  stream,  their 
tops  sometimes  just  below  the  surface,  sometimes  rising  many  feet  above,  while  pinna- 
cles and  towers  broke  the  swift  current  into  chutes,  eddies,  and  whirlpools.  A  few 


18  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

hours  of  this  journeying,  to  which  dauger  that  could  be  overcome  by  sharp  vigilance 
lent  a  keen  zest,  had  passed,  when  their  ears  caught  a  loud  roar  ahead,  that  became 
louder  and  louder  as  the  swift  current  swept  their  boats  onward  with  great  velocity. 
Soon  they  found  themselves  approaching  the  verge  of  a  long,  broken  fall,  full  of  dan- 
gerous obstructions  and  boiling  rapids  and  whirlpools,  making  a  descent  of  about 
eighty  feet  in  nearly  a  third  of  a  mile.  There  was  no  possibility  of  making  a  portage, 
so  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  trust  themselves  to  fate.  On  they  sped,  tossed 
and  battered  by  the  angry  breakers,  spun  around  by  the  whirlpools  like  tops,  all  but 
submerged  at  times  by  the  big  waves.  But  they  all  managed  to  get  through  safely, 
though  with  their  clothes  wetted  through,  and  with  a  feeling  that  they  had  looked 
pretty  closely  into  the  face  of  death. 

The  walls  of  the  canon  were  now  more  than  a  mile  in  height,  a  thousand  feet 
through  granite  crags  their  slopes  and  perpendicular  cliffs  rising  one  above  the  other 
to  the  summit.  Down  through  these  gloomy  depths  the  boats  glided,  the  voyagers 
listening  always  with  intent  ear,  for  the  mad  waters  kept  up  a  continual  roar,  and  the 
narrow  canon  was  so  winding  that  they  could  only  see  a  few  hundred  yards  ahead. 
But,  with  all  the  unknown  danger  before  them  to  absorb  their  attention,  the  gigantic 
scenery  of  this  solemn,  mysterious  way  diverted  thought  from  mere  personal  peril. 
"Even  as  we  went,"  we  are  told,  "there  was  some  new  pinnacle  or  tower,  some  crag 
or  peak,  some  distant  view  of  the  upper  plateau,  some  deep,  narrow  side-canon,  or 
some  strangely  shaped  rock/'  Above  all  was  the  stunning  conception  of  the  height 
of  the  walls  that  locked  them  in — about  the  distance  of  Grace  Church,  New  York, 
from  the  corner  of  Canal  Street  and  Broadway  ;  or  of  the  Treasury  Building,  in  Wash- 
ington, from  the  Capitol  ;  or  of  the  Union  Depot.  Chicago,  from  the  Lake  Street 
bridge. 

Major  Powell  speaks  of  the  striking  effects  of  the  clouds  floating  above  these  great 
depths  :  "  Sometimes  they  rolled  down  in  great  masses,  filling  the  gorge  with  gloom  ; 
sometimes  they  hung  above  from  wall  to  wall,  covering  the  canon  with  a  roof  of  im- 
pending storm,  and  we  could  peer  long  distances  up  and  down  this  caiion  corridor  with 
its  cloud-roof  overhead,  its  walls  of  black  granite,  and  its  river  bright  with  the  sheen 
of  broken  waters.  Then  a  gust  of  wind  would  sweep  down  the  side-gulch  and  make 
a  rift  in  the  clouds,  revealing  the  blue  heavens,  and  a  stream  of  sunlight  poured  in. 
Again,  the  clouds  drifted  away  into  the  distance,  and  hung  around  crags  and  peaks 
and  pinnacles  and  walls  and  towers,  covering  them  with  a  mantle  that  lifted  from 
time  to  time  and  set  them  all  in  sharp  relief.  .  .  .  Then  the  rain  came  down.  Little 
rills  were  formed  rapidly  above  ;  these  soon  grew  into  brooks,  and  the  brooks  into 
creeks,  which  tumbled  over  the  walls  in  innumerable  cascades,  adding  their  wild  music 
to  the  roar  of  the  river.  The  waters  that  fall  during  the  rain  on  these  steep  rocks  are 
gathered  at  once  into  the  river  ;  they  could  scarcely  be  poured  in  more  suddenly  if 
some  vast  spout  ran  from  the  clouds  to  the  stream  itself." 

On  some  days  the  course  of  river-travel  was  found  so  dangerous  that  many  portages 
were  necessary  in  advancing  a  mile,  and  a  whole  day  would  be  exhausted  in  making  a 


THE  CAffONS   OF  THE  COLORADO.  19 

very  little  progress.  The  portages  were  often  only  a  trifle  less  dangerous  than  the 
river-travel,  for  the  boats  had  to  be  carried  up  and  around  ledges  and  shelves  of  rock 
where  a  misstep  would  have  been  fatal ;  but  the  pluck  of  the  explorer  was  proof  against 
everything,  in  spite  of  the  murmurings  of  some  of  his  men,  daunted  by  the  perils 
they  had  to  undergo,  and  the  danger  of  their  supply  of  rations  giving  out  before  that 
dreadful  journey  through  the  Grand  Canon  could  be  finished.  Often,  while  his  men 
were  engaged  in  making  a  portage  of  the  boats  around  some  impassable  fall,  Major 
Powell  would  climb,  by  circuitous  and  painful  as  well  as  perilous  paths,  to  the  top  of 
the  gorge.  On  one  of  these  occasions  he  thus  describes  the  appearance  of  the  cafion  : 
"  I  climbed  the  wall  on  the  northeast  to  a  height  of  about  twenty-five  hundred  feet, 
where  I  could  get  a  good  view  of  a  long  stretch  of  canon  below.  Its  course  was  to 
the  southwest.  The  walls  seemed  to  rise  very  abruptly  for  twenty-five  hundred  or  three 
thousand  feet,  and  then  there  was  a  gentle  sloping  terrace  on  each  side  for  two  or 
three  miles,  and  then  cliffs  rising  from  fifteen  hundred  to  twenty-five  hundred  feet. 
From  the  brink  of  these  the  plateau  stretches  back  to  the  north  or  south  for  a  long 
distance.  Away  down  the  canon  on  the  right  wall  I  could  see  a  group  of  mountains, 
some  of  which  appeared  to  stand  on  the  brink  of  the  canon.  The  effect  of  the  terrace 
was  to  give  the  appearance  of  a  narrow,  winding  valley  with  high  walls  on  either  side, 
and  a  deep,  dark,  meandering  gorge  down  its  middle." 

In  some  places  the  stream  had  not  excavated  its  channel  vertically  through  the 
rocks,  but  had  cut  obliquely,  so  that  one  wall  overhung  another.  In  other  places  it 
was  cut  obliquely  below  and  vertically  above,  or  vice  versa,  so  that  it  was  impossible 
to  see  overhead.  The  gigantic  caprices  wrought  by  the  water-saw  which  had  thus 
cleft  its  way  down  through  the  bowels  of  granite,  limestone,  and  slate,  thousands  of 
feet,  were  almost  numberless.  At  one  place,  near  the  center  of  the  canon,  were  dis- 
covered remarkable  traces  of  volcanic  action.  Masses  of  lava,  some  of  them  shafts  a 
hundred  feet  high,  stand  in  the  river  for  a  distance  of  several  miles.  Just  over  the 
edge  of  a  fall  on  the  brink  of  a  canon  was  observed  a  cinder-cone,  or  extinct  volcano, 
with  a  well-defined  crater,  from  which  vast  floods  of  lava  must  have  been  poured  into 
the  river,  and  just  where  it  poured  over  the  canon-side  is  the  fall. 

Just  opposite  the  volcanic  cone  on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  from  a  huge  fissure 
in  the  towering  wall,  at  the  height  of  a  hundred  feet  above  the  river,  mammoth 
springs  burst  forth,  pouring  a  great  cascade  of  salt  water  into  the  river.  The  phe- 
nomena relating  to  this  flood  of  lava  excited  Major  Powell's  attention.  He  thinks 
the  canon  had  been  filled,  to  a  depth  of  perhaps  fifteen  hundred  feet,  by  more  than 
one  outpour  of  the  fiery  stream.  This  would  dam  the  water  back,  and,  in  cutting 
through  this  great  lava-bed,  a  new  channel  was  formed,  sometimes  on  one  side  and 
sometimes  on  the  other.  The  cooled  lava,  being  of  harder  texture  than  the  other 
rocks,  remains  in  some  places ;  in  others  a  narrow  channel  was  cut,  leaving  a  line  of 
basalt  on  either  side.  In  some  places  all  the  lava  is  gone,  leaving  a  few  patches  only 
clinging  to  the  sides  of  the  walls.  Sometimes  the  flow  ran  out  into  side-canons, 
showing  the  basalt  in  fine  columnar  forms,  or  concentric  prisms,  repeating  the  shapes 


20 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


which  make  the  beauty  and  wonder  of  Fingal's  Cave,  on  the  Isle  of  Staff  a.  What  a 
conflict  of  water  and  fire  there  must  have  been  !  Imagine  a  river  of  molten  rock 
running  down  into  a  river  of  melted  snow !  Through  the  whole  length  of  the  Grand 


Grand  Canon,  looking  down  Two  Thousand  Feet. 

Canon  the  gorge  is  diversified  by  remarkable  side-canons,  crowded  with  colossal  and 
fantastic  rock-forms,  out  of  which  the  imagination  can  make  all  kinds  of  curious 
parallels,  domes,  pinnacles,  towers,  thrones,  chambers,  statues,  banqueting- tables,  etc., 


THE  CAftONS   OF  THE  COLORADO.  21 

piled  together  in  reckless  confusion,  as  if  by  the  hands  of  the  Jotihis  of  Norse  mythol- 
ogy. Over  these  side-canons  often  burst  magnificent  cascades,  but  at  other  times  not 
even  the  sound  of  falling  water  disturbs  the  silent  mystery  of  these  palaces  of  the 
giants. 

The  dangers  of  the  subterranean  water-way  over  which  Major  Powell  was  journey- 
ing were  so  great  and  so  full  of  surprises  that  it  was  necessary  to  make  frequent  ascents 
up  the  almost  impassable  face  of  the  great  gorge.  All  the  skill  and  audacity  of  the 
accomplished  cragsman  were  necessary,  and  the  leader,  who  had  lost  one  arm  during 
the  late  war,  met  many  hair-breadth  escapes  in  reaching  points  of  outlook.  One  of 
these  adventures  he  thus  describes:  "We  came  to  a  place  in  the  river  which  seemed 
much  worse  than  any  we  had  met  in  our  whole  course.  We  landed,  but  could  see  no 
place  where  we  could  let  down,  and  to  run  it  (the  fall)  would  be  sure  destruction. 
Then  we  crossed  to  examine  it  on  the  left.  High  above  the  river  we  could  walk 
along  on  the  top  of  the  granite,  which  was  broken  off  at  the  edge  and  set  with  crags 
and  pinnacles,  so  that  it  was  very  difficult  to  get  a  view  of  the  river  at  all.  In  my 
eagerness  to  reach  a  point  where  I  could  see  the  roaring  fall  below,  I  went  too  far  on 
the  wall,  and  could  neither  advance  nor  retreat,  and  stood  with  one  foot  on  a  little, 
projecting  rock,  and  clung  with  my  hand  fixed  in  a  little  crevice.  Finding  I  was 
caught  here,  suspended  four  hundred  feet  above  the  river,  into  which  I  should  fall  if 
my  footing  failed,  I  called  for  help.  The  men  came  and  passed  me  a  line,  but  I  could 
not  let  go  the  rock  long  enough  to  take  hold  of  it ;  then  they  brought  two  or  three 
of  the  longest  oars.  All  this  took  time,  which  seemed  very  precious  to  me.  But  at 
last  the  blade  of  one  of  the  oars  was  pushed  into  a  little  crevice  of  the  rock  beyond 
me  in  such  a  way  that  they  could  hold  me  pressed  against  the  wall.  Then  another 
was  fixed  in  such  a  way  that  I  could  step  on  it,  and  I  was  rescued." 

It  was  found  that  a  lateral  stream  had  washed  bowlders  into  the  river  so  as  to 
form  a  dam,  over  which  the  river  made  a  broken  fall  of  eighteen  or  twenty  feet ; 
then  there  was  a  rapid  beset  with  rock  for  two  or  three  hundred  yards,  while  on  the 
sides  points  of  the  wall  projected  into  the  river.  There  was  a  second  fall  below  no 
less  dangerous,  and  beyond  that  a  rapid,  filled  with  huge  rocks  for  several  hundred 
yards.  At  the  bottom  of  this  a  great  wall  projected  itself  half-way  across  the  river. 
It  had  a  sloping  surface  up-stream,  and  the  water,  coming  down  with  all  the  momen- 
tum gained  in  the  falls  and  rapids  above,  rolled  up  this  inclined  plane  many  feet,  and 
tumbled  over  to  the  left,  forming  a  perilous  whirlpool.  Here  were  a  Scylla  and  a 
Oharybdis  combined  with  a  vengeance.  This  complication  of  perils  was  overcome  by 
letting  the  boats  down  over  the  first  fall  by  ropes,  running  the  rapids  below,  passing 
the  second  fall  by  a  chute  or  a  break  in  the  rocky  dam,  and  pulling  the  boats  across 
the  stream  just  below,  with  all  the  strength  of  the  crews,  to  avoid  being  swept  down 
on  the  great  rock  and  the  whirlpool.  Only  great  skill,  resolution,  and  quickness  of 
stroke  saved  them  from  ruin  in  this  attempt,  and,  though  they  were  upset  and  got 
wet  jackets,  they  pulled  through  safely,  as  they  had  all  previous  dangers. 

Before  this  part  of   the  river  was  passed,  three  men  of   the  expedition  had  become 


22  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

so  discouraged  by  the  dangers  they  had  suffered  and  the  unknown  threat  of  what  was 
to  come,  that  they  determined  to  leave  the  party  and  make  the  best  of  their  way  toward 
the  settlements.  Though  Major  Powell  made  calculations  showing  that  they  could  not 
have  more  than  eighty  or  ninety  miles  more  of  travel  through  the  Grand  Canon  be- 
fore emerging  into  a  more  open  country  at  the  confluence  of  the  Rio  Virgen,  where 
it  would  be  easy  to  get  back  to  civilization,  the  rebels  could  not  be  persuaded.  So 
the  rations  were  fairly  divided  with  them,  a  duplicate  set  of  the  records  of  the  expedi- 
tion intrusted  to  their  care,  in  case  Powell  should  be  lost,  and  they  set  out  with  ;i 
God-speed  from  their  forsaken  comrades.  These  deserters  had  a  tedious  and  difficult 
time,  and,  as  Fate  would  have  it,  did  not  reach  the  settlements  till  after  Major  Powell. 

Nearly  every  day  brought  fresh  difficulties  to  be  overcome,  and  one  can  hardly  blame 
the  faint-hearted  three  for  giving  up  the  enterprise  which  the  indomitable  Powell  and 
his  followers  persisted  in  carrying  out  to  the  last.  An  experience  similar  to  the  one 
already  described,  and  even  more  thrilling,  we  give  in  the  explorer's  own  language  : 

"Just  after  dinner  we  came  to  another  bad  place.  A  little  stream  came  in  from 
the  left,  and  below  there  was  a  fall  and  still  another  fall.  Above,  the  river  tumbled 
down  over  and  among  the  rocks  in  whirlpools  and  great  waves,  and  the  waters  were 
white  with  foam.  We  ran  along  the  left  above  this,  and  soon  saw  that  we  could  not 
get  down  on  that  side,  but  it  seemed  possible  to  let  down  on  the  other.  So  we  pulled 
up-stream  for  two  or  three  hundred  yards  and  crossed.  There  was  a  bed  of  basalt 
on  the  northern  side  of  the  canon,  with  a  bold  escarpment  that  seemed  a  hundred 
feet  high.  We  could  climb  it  and  walk  along  the  summit  to  a  point  where  we  were 
just  above  the  head  of  the  fall.  Here  the  basalt  seemed  to  be  broken  again,  and  I 
directed  the  men  to  take  the  line  to  the  top  of  the  cliff  and  let  the  boats  down  along 
the  wall.  One  remained  in  the  boat,  to  keep  her  clear  of  the  rocks  and  prevent  her 
line  from  being  caught  on  the  projecting  angles.  I  climbed  the  cliff  and  passed  to  a 
point  just  over  the  fall  and  descended  by  broken  rocks,  and  found  that  the  break  of 
the  fall  was  above  the  break  of  the  wall,  so  that  we  could  not  land,  and  that  still 
below  the  river  was  very  bad,  and  there  was  no  possibility  of  a  portage.  Without  wait- 
ing further  to  examine  and  determine  what  should  be  done,  I  hastened  back  to  the 
top  of  the  cliff  to  stop  the  boats  from  coming  down.  When  I  arrived  I  found  that 
the  men  had  let  one  of  them  down  to  the  head  of  the  fall ;  she  was  in  swift  water, 
and  they  were  not  able  to  pull  her  back,  nor  were  they  able  to  go  on  with  the  line,  as 
it  was  not  long  enough  to  reach  the  higher  part  of  the  cliff  which  was  just  before 
them  ;  so  they  took  a  bight  around  a  crag  and  I  sent  two  men  back  for  another  line. 
The  boat  was  in  very  swift  water,  and  Bradley  was  standing  in  the  open  compartment 
holding  out  his  oar  to  prevent  her  from  striking  against  the  foot  of  the  cliffs.  Now 
she  shot  out  into  the  stream  and  up  as  far  as  the  line  would  permit,  and  then  wheel- 
ing drove  headlong  against  the  rock  ;  and  then  out  and  back  again,  now  straining  on 
the  line,  now  striking  against  the  cliff.  As  soon  as  the  second  line  was  brought  we 
passed  it  down  to  him,  but  his  attention  was  all  taken  up  by  his  own  situation,  and 
he  did  not  see  what  we  were  doing.  I  stood  on  a  projecting  rock  waving  my  hat  to 


THE   CANONS   OF  THE  COLORADO. 


yUw  in  Gratul  Canon. 


24  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

gain  his  heed,  for  my  voice  was  drowned  in  the  roar  of  the  falls,  when  just  at  that 
moment  I  saw  him  take  out  his  knife  from  its  sheath  and  step  forward  to  cut  the 
line.  He  had  evidently  decided  that  it  was  better  for  him  to  go  over  with  his  boat  as 
it  was,  than  to  wait  for  her  to  go  all  to  pieces.  As  he  leaned  over  the  boat  again 
sheered  into  the  stream,  the  stern-post  broke  away,  and  she  was  loose.  With  perfect 
composure  Bradley  seized  the  great  scull-oar,  placed  it  in  the  stern  row-lock  and 
pulled  with  all  his  might — and  he  was  a  strong  fellow — to  turn  the  bow  of  the  boat 
down-stream,  for  he  wished  to  go  bow  down  rather  than  to  drift  broadside  on.  Only 
two  strokes  were  made,  a  third  just  as  she  went  over,  and  the  boat  was  fairly  turned  ; 
she  went  down  almost  beyond  our  sight,  though  we  were  more  than  a  hundred  feet 
above  the  river.  Then  she  came  up  again  on  a  great  wave,  and  down  and  up,  then 
around  behind  some  great  rocks,  and  was  lost  in  the  tumultuous  foam  below. 

"We  stood  speechless  with  fear ;  we  saw  no  boat ;  Bradley  was  gone.  But  now,  away 
below,  we  saw  something  coming  out  of  the  waves.  It  was  evidently  a  boat ;  a  moment 
more  and  we  saw  Bradley  standing  on  deck,  swinging  his  hat,  to  show  that  he  was  all 
right.  But  he  was  in  a  whirlpool.  The  stern-post  of  his  boat  remained  attached  to 
the  line  which  was  in  our  possession.  How  badly  she  was  disabled  we  knew  not.  I  di- 
rected Sumner  and  Powell  to  run  along  the  cliff  and  see  if  they  could  not  reach  him 
from  below.  Rhodes,  Hall,  and  myself  ran  to  the  other  boat,  jumped  aboard,  pushed 
out,  and  away  we  went  over  the  falls.  A  wave  rolled  over  us,  and  our  craft  became 
unmanageable  ;  another  great  wave  struck  us,  the  boat  rolled  over  and  tumbled  and 
tossed  I  know  not  how.  All  I  know  is  that  Bradley  was  soon  picking  us  up.  Before 
long  we  had  all  right  again  and  rowed  to  the  cliff,  and  waited  until  Sumner  and 
Powell  came  up.  After  a  difficult  climb  they  reached  us,  when  we  ran  two  or  three 
miles  farther,  and  turned  again  to  the  northwest,  continuing  till  night,  when  we  lan 
out  of  the  granite  once  more." 

On  August  29th  they  emerged  from  the  Grand  Canon,  whose  stupendous  portals 
they  had  entered  on  the  13th,  and  well  might  they  give  thanks  that  a  journey, 
encompassed  with  terrible  dangers,  where  death  had  stared  them  in  the  face  almost 
every  day,  was  safely  over. 

Mr.  Thomas  Moran,  the  artist,  and  a  companion,  made  a  visit  to  two  of  the  most 
interesting  portions  of  this  canon  in  the  summer  of  1873,  accompanied  by  guides  from 
Major  Powell's  party,  some  of  whom  were  still  engaged  in  completing  the  results  of 
their  survey,  and  a  further  brief  description  from  this  source  will  be  of  interest : 

"  Our  first  journey,"  we  read,  "  was  to  the  Toroweap  Valley.  By  following  down 
this  valley,  we  passed  through  the  upper  line  of  cliffs  to  the  edge  of  a  chasm  cut  in 
red  sandstone  and  vermilion-colored  limestone  or  marble,  twenty-eight  hundred  feet 
deep  and  about  one  thousand  feet  wide.  Creeping  out  carefully  to  the  edge  of  the 
precipice,  we  could  look  down  directly  on  the  river,  fifteen  times  as  far  away  as  the 
waters  of  Niagara  are  below  the  bridge.  Mr.  Hillers,  who  passed  through  the  cafion 
with  Major  Powell,  was  with  us,  and  he  informed  us  that  the  river  below  was  a 
raging  torrent ;  yet  it  looked  from  the  top  of  the  cliff  like  a  small,  smooth,  sluggish 


THE   CANONS   OF  THE   COLORADO. 


26  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

river.  The  view  looking  up  the  caflon  is  magnificent,  and  beyond  the  most  extrava- 
gant conception  of  the  imagination.  In  the  foreground  lies  a  profound  gorge,  with 
a  mile  or  two  of  the  river  seen  in  its  deep  bed.  The  eye  looks  twenty  miles  or  more 
through  what  appears  like  a  narrow  valley  formed  by  the  upper  line  of  the  cliffs. 
The  many-colored  rocks  in  which  the  valley  is  carved  project  into  it  in  vast  head- 
lands two  thousand  feet  high,  wrought  into  beautiful  but  gigantic  architectural  forms. 
Within  an  hour  of  the  time  of  sunset  the  effect  is  strange,  weird,  and  dazzling. 
Every  moment,  until  light  is  gone,  the  scene  shifts,  as  one  monumental  pile  passes 
into  shade  and  another,  before  unobserved,  comes  into  view.  .  .  .  Our  next  visit 
was  to  the  Karbal  Plateau,  the  highest  plateau  through  which  the  river  cuts.  It  was 
only  after  much  hard  labor,  and  possibly  a  little  danger,  that  we  could  reach  a  point 
where  we  could  see  the  river,  which  we  did  from  the  edge  of  Powell  Plateau,  a  small 
plain  severed  from  the  mainland  by  a  precipitous  gorge  two  thousand  feet  deep, 
across  which  we  succeeded  in  making  a  passage.  Here  we  beheld  one  of  the  most 
awful  scenes  on  the  globe.  While  on  the  highest  point  of  the  plateau,  a  terrific 
thunder-storm  burst  over  the  caflon.  The  lightning  flashed  from  crag  to  crag.  A 
thousand  streams  gathered  on  the  surrounding  plain,  and  dashed  down  into  the  depths 
of  the  caflon  in  water-falls  many  times  the  height  of  Niagara.  The  vast  chasm  which 
we  saw  before  us,  stretching  away  forty  miles  in  one  direction  and  twenty  miles  in 
another,  was  nearly  seven  thousand  feet  deep.  Into  it  all  the  domes  of  the  Yosemite, 
if  plucked  from  the  level  of  that  valley,  might  be  cast,  together  with  all  the  mass  of 
the  White  Mountains  in  New  Hampshire,  and  still  the  chasm  would  not  be  filled." 

The  country  through  which  the  Colorado  cleaves  such  a  Titanic  gash  is  interesting 
aside  from  the  remarkable  physical  features  of  it.  Major  Powell  made  many  interest- 
ing excursions  during  his  different  explorations  in  Arizona,  and  our  knowledge  of 
several  highly  interesting  Indian  tribes  has  been  materially  advanced  by  the  interest 
he  has  shown  in  studying  these  remnants  of  earlier  races.  The  Navajos,  a  tribe  belong- 
ing to  the  Apache  stock,  acquired  many  arts  from  the  partially  civilized  Indian  races 
who  early  inhabited  New  Mexico  and  Arizona,  and  they  still  continue  their  friend- 
ship with  the  Moquis  Pueblos,  an  Indian  people  now  nearly  extinct,  but  believed  by 
Major  Powell  to  be  descended  from  the  Aztec  race.  The  Navajos  cultivate  the  soil 
rudely  but  extensively,  and  have  large  herds  and  flocks  of  horses,  cattle,  sheep,  and 
goats.  Their  women  also  spin  and  weave  cotton  and  wool  with  great  skill.  The 
celebrated  Navajo  blankets  are  probably  equal  if  not  superior  to  any  made  in  the 
world,  being  so  closely  woven  that  they  are  absolutely  water-tight.  In  1872  the 
Navajos,  on  the  reservation  near  Fort  Defiance,  numbering  9,714  souls,  had  130,000 
sheep  and  goats,  10,000  horses,  and  a  corresponding  number  of  cattle !  They  have 
lost  their  old  Indian  dialect,  and  now  speak  only  Spanish.  A  fine-looking,  robust  race, 
their  men  are  models  of  athletic  vigor,  and  many  of  their  women  of  no  little  beauty. 
They  dress  decently,  covering  their  whole  body  in  textures  of  their  own  weaving,  gen- 
erally of  bright  colors.  The  warriors  wear  a  helmet-shaped  deer-skin  cap,  and  their 
arms  are  in  the  main  bows,  lances,  and  rawhide  shields.  This  fine  Indian  tribe  has 


THE   CAftONS   OF  THE   COLORADO. 


27 


made  considerable  advance  in  education,   as   they  have  a   Presbyterian    mission  and 
school  among  them,  which  have  wrought  with  good  results. 

But  the  most  interesting  of  the  Indian  peoples  visited   by  Major  Powell  in  his 


Street  in  a  Moquis  Village. 

explorations  of  the  canons  of  the  Colorado  are  the  Moquis  Pueblos.  The  ruins  of 
cities,  bearing  upon  their  dismantled  walls  the  strange  records  of  a  population  swal- 
lowed up  in  the  darkness  of  the  past,  found  among  the  cliffs  and  canons  of  the  Colo- 
rado, have  given  great  interest  to  the  section  of  Arizona  where  the  Moquis  Indians 


28  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

are  found,  who,  whether  or  not  a  remnant  of  the  ancient  Aztecs  of  Mexico,  differ 
from  all  the  other  Indian  races  of  North  America.  In  1530  Nino  de  Guzman,  Gov- 
ernor of  New  Galicia,  was  excited  by  curiosity,  and  stories  of  great  treasures  prevalent 
among  the  Indians,  to  fit  out  an  expedition  to  go  in  search  of  the  seven  cities  sup- 
posed to  exist  between  the  Gila  and  the  Colorado  Rivers.  Much  of  the  romantic 
charm  investing  these  ruins  and  unknown  towns  is  the  outcome  of  the  fact  that,  as  in 
the  course  of  nature  this  country  became  barren  and  sterile,  and  the  waters  through 
different  causes  were  dried  up,  it  became  necessary  that  the  inhabitants  should  move 
to  other  regions.  They  could  not  move  their  cities,  hence  the  ruins  still  found  in 
the  desert  of  Arizona.  But  these  people  and  their  ruins,  whether 'Moquis  or  Aztecs, 
have  an  interesting  place  in  the  archaeology  of  the  continent. 

The  towns  are  generally  built  upon  an  eminence  commanding  a  view  of  the  sur- 
rounding country,  and  so  situated  that  they  can  only  be  approached  through  a  narrow 
defile  or  through  a  chasm  in  the  rocks.  The  houses  are  formed  of  mud  and  stone, 
two  or  three  stories  high,  and  ranged  in  the  form  of  hollow  squares.  The  first  story 
is  built  solid  without  any  opening  in  the  walls,  and  the  second,  being  somewhat  smaller, 
forms  a  kind  of  terrace  where  the  entrance  is  constructed,  and  access  was  had  from 
the  outside  by  means  of  ladders.  These  were  drawn  up  after  use,  thus  making  the 
place  secure  against  attack.  The  lower  stories  were  used  as  store-rooms,  and  the 
remains  of  corn-cobs  still  found  in  them  prove  that  the  ancient  occupants  relied  on 
agriculture  as  well  as  the  chase  for  a  subsistence.  In  many  cases,  as  has  been  stated 
in  previous  pages,  houses  have  been  found  built  on  the  rock-terraces  of  such  almost 
impassable  spots  as  the  gorges  of  the  Colorado.  These  probably  were  erected  by  scat- 
tered fragments  of  the  tribe,  after  they  had  been  driven  out  of  their  towns  by  the  fate 
of  war  or  the  inhospitality  of  Nature. 

The  inhabited  towns  of  to-day  are  seven  in  number,  occupying  twenty-five  miles 
square,  and  are  governed  by  separate  chiefs,  who  mix  with  one  another  very  little. 
Although  one  people,  and  known  to  the  world  as  the  seven  Moquis  Pueblos  or  Dying 
Cities,  each  has  a  distinctive  name,  and  is  entirely  independent  of  the  others. 

Mr.  Beaman,  one  of  the  Powell  party,  who  visited  the  village  or  city  of  Oribay, 
writes  as  follows  :  "  On  the  morning  after  my  arrival  I  was  awakened  by  the  con- 
fused ringing  of  bells,  from  the  deep-toned  cow-bell  to  the  silvery  tinkling  of  the 
miniature  chimes  of  Santa  Claus's  reindeer-team.  So  terrific  was  the  din  that  I 
thought  there  must  be  a  fire,  and  had  a  sleepy  idea  that  a  fire-engine  was  rattling 
over  the  stones.  The  only  engines  that  appeared,  however,  were  copper-colored  Injins, 
elaborately  dressed  in  their  aboriginal  skins,  with  strings  of  bells  girdled  at  their 
waists.  The  novelty  of  the  sight  was  an  eye-opener,  and  I  set  to  watching  their 
movements.  The  roofs  of  the  houses  were  covered  with  people  bowing  toward  the 
rising  sun,  and  paying  not  the  slightest  attention  to  the  bell-men,  who  started  off  at 
full  speed,  and  after  running  a  mile  returned.  Turning  to  Lie  (the  Indian  guide) 
for  an  explanation  of  these  strange  manoeuvres,  I  was  informed  that  an  old  tradition 
existed  among  his  people  that  at  some  future  day  Montezuma  will  come  from  the 


THE   CAffONS   OF  THE   COLORADO.  29 

skies  to  restore  to  his  children  their  former  glory  and  power.  They  expect  him  to 
come  from  the  rising  sun,  in  which  his  spirit  is  supposed  to  dwell,  and  for  this 
reason  they  send  out  messengers  to  meet  him  daily  in  the  pomp  and  circumstance 
which  has  been  described." 

The  people  believe   that  the  sooner   their  villages  go   to   decay  the  sooner  their 
deliverer  and  rebuilder  will  come ;  therefore  everything  is  left  to  go  to  decay.     The 


Jfavq/o  Indians. 

introduction  of  improvements  is  considered  an  unpardonable  sin  against  their  faith, 
and  they  refuse  to  accept  any  annuities  from  the  United  States,  so  as  to  obviate  all 
contact  with  the  white  man.  Yet  the  Moquis  are  most  skillful  weavers  of  cotton  and 
wool,  make  highly  artistic  pottery,  have  considerable  knowledge  of  smelting  and  forg- 
ing metals,  are  excellent  agriculturists,  and  show  attainments  superior  to  those  of  any 


30  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

other  tribe  of  American  Indians.  They  dress  in  a  style  similar  to  that  of  the  Nava- 
jos,  though  with  less  gaudy  colors.  The  women  are  characterized  by  superior  beauty, 
this  charm  being  specially  noticeable  among  the  younger  ones.  One  of  the  marked 
peculiarities  is  the  style  of  head-dressing  prevalent  among  the  maidens.  As  soon  as  a 
girl  comes  of  a  marriageable  age,  her  crowning  glory  is  coiffed  upon  either  side  of  the 
head  in  two  distended  bat-like  wings,  somewhat  resembling  the  fans  of  a  propeller  or 
windmill.  These  wings  are  about  a  foot  long,  and,  projecting  from  the  head  of  a 
bright-eyed  Indian  girl,  a  lover  might  fear  lest  in  a  gale  of  wind  his  chocolate-colored 
Venus  should  be  borne  aloft.  When  a  girl  becomes  a  wife,  these  wings  disappear. 
The  purity  of  womanhood,  so  strictly  maintained  in  this  tribe,  is  in  marked  contrast 
to  other  Mexican  races.  The  Moquis  matrons  are  above  suspicion,  while  frailty  is 
unknown  among  their  daughters. 

One  remarkable  fact  observable  in  the  Moquis  villages  is  the  decoration  of  the 
walls  of  their  houses  and  their  rolls  of  bark,  which  appear  to  be  records,  with  pic- 
torial representations  not  only  of  objects  in  nature,  but  hieroglyphics,  of  shape  not 
unlike  those  of  Egypt.  These  are  drawn  and  often  colored  with  marked  artistic 
skill,  and  there  are  certain  members  of  each  community  who  devote  themselves  entirely 
to  this  work,  mostly  old  men,  who  appear  to  belong  to  some  priestly  caste,  and  to  be 
treated  with  great  respect  by  the  other  Indian  villagers.  These  things  would  indi- 
cate an  origin  different  from  that  of  the  other  Indian  tribes,  and  go  far  to  justify 
that  belief  in  Aztec  descent  held  by  Major  Powell  and  other  archaeologists  who  have 
studied  their  customs  and  characteristics. 

The  wonderful  Colorado  canons  have  excited,  perhaps,  a  greater  interest  among 
scientists  during  the  last  few  years  than  any  other  physical  phenomena  of  our  land,  so 
rich  in  natural  wonders.  Probably  their  parallel  is  not  known  on  our  globe,  and  only 
their  difficulty  of  access  has  prevented  many  curiosity-seekers  and  tourists  from  pene- 
trating to  a  region  so  characterized  by  marvels.  This  difficulty,  however,  is  likely  soon 
to  disappear,  as  a  railroad  from  Salt  Lake  City  is  planned,  which  will  take  the  trav- 
eler within  a  day's  journey  or  so  from  the  magnificent  Grand  Canon,  which  surpasses 
all  the  others  in  magnitude  and  sublimity.  When  this  projected  route  is  completed, 
it  will  be  as  easy  to  reach  this  masterpiece  of  Nature's  power  as  to  go  to  the  Yo- 
semite  at  the  present  time.  Perhaps  the  time  will  come  in  the  not  distant  future  when 
these  great  canons  will  be  spoken  of  almost  as  familiarly  as  the  falls  of  Niagara  or 
the  Mammoth  Cave ;  or,  it  may  be,  tourist  parties  will  be  organized  to  picnic  on  the 
topmost  cliffs  of  the  almost  immeasurable  gorges,  at  the  bottom  of  which,  more  than 
a  mile  below,  the  swift  and  turbid  Colorado  rolls  its  angry  flood. 


Day-Boat  leaving  Sew  York. 


THE  HUDSON  KIVER. 

Characteristic  features  ol  river  scenery — The  Pali- 
sades— Tarrytown,  its  traditions  and  associations 
— The  home  of  Washington  Irving — The  High- 
lauds — The  legendary  interest  of  the  region — 
West  Point,  our  great  military  school — How  the 
cadets  live  and  study — The  charms  of  West  Point 
and  its  surroundings — The  scene  of  Drake's 
"Culprit  Fay" — The  story  of  the  poem,  and 
how  it  was  suggested — The  literary  associations  of 
the  region  about  Cornwall — Idlewild,  the  home 
of  N.  P.  Willis — Newburg  and  its  surroundings 
— The  Catskills,  and  their  charm  as  a  summer 
resort— The  upper  Hudson — A  river  celebrated 
throughout  the  world  for  its  beauty. 


TRAVELERS  from  abroad  have  frequently  found  the  fault  with  American  scenery 
that  while  in  its  grander  aspects,  especially  in  the  far  West,  its  wildness  is  almost 
terrible,  its  gentler  phases  lack  that  gentleness  and  softness  of  tone  which  comes  of 
tasteful  and  careful  culture,  and  an  intelligent  pursuit  of  the  art  of  landscape-gar- 
dening. This  element  of  the  unkempt  and  ragged,  which  sometimes  repels  an  admi- 


32 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


ration  that  would  otherwise  be  attracted  by  picturesque  beauty,  is  generally  absent 
from  the  scenery  of  the  Hudson  Eiver.  Many,  indeed,  have  been  free  to  admit  that, 
in  varied  and  pictorial  charm,  it  excels  the  world-famed  Ehine,  though  it  lacks  that 
powerful  appeal  to  the  historic  imagination  which  comes  of  ancient  and  time-honored 
ruins  associated  with  important  events  in  the  growth  of  civilization.  Yet  we  may 


View  of  the  Palisades  from  Eastern  Shore. 


say  that  the  Hudson  River  is  not 
altogether  deficient  in  this  regard, 
for  many  an  interesting  old  colo- 
nial legend  and  Revolutionary  event 
gives  its  banks  a  quaint  historic 
charm.  Mr.  George  William  Cur- 
tis says,  in  comparing  the  Hudson 
with  famous  European  rivers,  "  The 

Danube  has  in  part  glimpses  of  such  grandeur,  the  Elbe  has  something  of  such  deli- 
cately penciled  effects,  but  no  European  river  is  so  lordly  in  its  bearing — none  flows 
in  such  state  to  the  sea." 

The  surpassing  charm  of  this  river  can  not  be  gainsaid,  and  it  is  beautiful 
indeed  under  any  guise.  Seen  by  soft  moonlight  from  one  of  the  spacious  night- 
boats  which  ply  in  summer  between  New  York  and  Albany,  one  can  hardly  resist  the 
conviction  that  its  weird  and  fairy-like  charm  can  not  be  repeated  under  the  garish 


THE  HUDSON  RIVER. 


33 


light  of  the  sun. 
Yet  to  see  it  to 
advantage  for  the 
first  time  the  tour- 
ist should  take  one 
of  the  morning- 
boats,  whose  sump- 
tuous fittings  go  far  to  justify  the  epi- 
thet of  floating  palaces  so  often  applied 
to  American  river-boats.  Supposing  the 
tourist  to  have  consigned  himself  to  one 
of  these  day-boats,  and  secured  a  good  po- 
sition on  the  forward-deck,  whence  both 
shores  can  be  seen  at  a  glance,  we  will 
ask  permission  to  accompany  him,  and 
will  endeavor  to  add  to  his  enjoyment  by  pointing  out,  not  too  obtrusively,  the  more 
salient  features  of  the  double  panorama  which  will  speedily  begin  to  unfold  itself. 

3 


A  Pinnacle  of  the  Pblisadea. 


34 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


l\ 


Seated  now  iu  our  chosen  positions,  secured  by  be- 
ing early  on  board,  we  turn  from  the  arid  denies  of 
the  city  streets  and  the  serried  ranks  of  houses,  and, 
looking  out  upon  the  broad,  rippling  river,  we  remind 
our  companion  that  he  is  viewing,  perhaps,  the  most 
animated  harbor-scene  in  the  world.  Nowhere,  we  as- 
sure him,  can  be  seen  such  a  picturesque  variety  of 
craft,  from  the  huge  steamships  that  link  the  Old 
World  with  the  New,  down  to  the  snorting,  restless 
little  tug-boats  and  the  diminutive 
yachts  and  pleasure-boats,  a  unique 


- 


feature    being    given    to   the 

><x*      i      _-. 

whole  by  the  uncouth  ferry- 

"  .'•''' 
boats  swinging  from  shore  to  _.^ 

shore,  and  the  great  tows  of      W. 
canal-boats  and  barges. 

The  characteristic  features  of  river  scen- 
ery begin  a  few  miles  above  the  part  of  New 
York  where  Washington  Heights  on  the  one 
side  and  Fort  Lee  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river  arrest  the  attention.  At  Fort  Lee,  a 
promontory  now  stripped  of  its  warlike  ap- 
pointments and  known  as  an  agreeable  pleas- 
ure-resort, begin  the  Palisades,  a  wall  of  per- 
pendicular cliffs  from  three  hundred  to  six 

hundred  feet  in  height,  which  line  the  western  bank  of  the  river  for  nearly  twenty 
miles,  and  form  one  of  the  most  striking  features  of  its  scenery.      The  face  of  the 


Palimde  Mountain  House. 


THE  HUDSON  RIVER. 


35 


frowning  wall  is  naked  and  rugged,  but  the  summit  is  a  pleasant  table-land  clothed 
in  thick  woods.  The  Palisade  Mountain  House,  four  miles  above  Fort  Lee,  crowns  a 
tall  escarpment  of  the  cliff,  and  occasionally  a  cottage  may  be  seen  peeping  through 
the  trees;  but  as  a  rule 
the  solitude  of  the  preci- 
pices as  seen  from  the 
river  appears  as  unbro- 
ken as  the  gloomy  cliffs 
of  the  Saugenay. 

The  stern  monotony 
of  this  wall  of  precipice 
makes  an  admirable  foil 
to  the  soft  beauty  of  the 
opposite  New  York  shore. 
The  eastern  bank  of  the 
river  is  really  a  continu- 
ous suburb  of  New  York, 
and  the  hills  are  crested 
with  innumerable  villas 
and  cottages,  the  tree- 
clad  slopes  furnishing  a 
charming  picture  of  well- 
kept  lawns  and  gardens. 
At  Yonkers  and  Tarry- 
town  these  suburbs  be- 
come considerable  towns, 
but  even  as  towns  they 
do  not  lose  that  rural  as- 
pect which  pervades  the 
whole.  The  largest  of 
them  remind  the  river 
voyager  quite  as  much 
of  parks  as  of  cities. 

The  first  town  seen 
after  leaving  the  city  is 
Eiverdale,  which  is  sim- 
ply a  group  of  elegant 
mansions,  aristocratic  in 
their  exclusiveness.  The 
city  of  Yonkers,  now 
a  beautiful  and  thriving 
place,  was  for  a  long 


36 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


time  an  old-fashioned  Dutch  village,  but  by  the  opening  of  the  Hudson  Eiver  Bail- 
way  became  a  favorite  suburb  of  the  metropolis,  and  is  one  of  the  best  examples  of 
a  prosperous  American  semi-rustic  city.  It  contains  among  its  relics  of  the  olden 
time  the  Philipse  manor-hall,  a  quaint  and  spacious  stone  edifice,  formerly  belonging 
to  the  lords  of  the  Philipse  manor,  but  now  converted  to  municipal  purposes.  The 
manor-house  was  built  by  Frederick  Philipse,  who  came  to  New  York  in  the  time  of 


Snn 


Governor  Stuyvesant.  He  purchased  large  tracts  of  land  from  the  Indians  and  secured 
grants  from  the  Government,  and  this  vast  estate  was  formally  erected  by  royal  char- 
ter under  the  name  of  Manor  Philipsburg.  Two  manor-houses  were  erected,  one  at 
Sleepy  Hollow  and  one  at  the  present  site  of  Yonkers.  The  third  lord  of  the  manor 
endeavored  to  preserve  a  strict  neutrality  during  the  Revolutionary  War,  but  he  was 
finally  attainted  of  treason  and  his  property  confiscated.  At  Hastings,  twenty-one 
miles  from  New  York,  the  shore  is  so  thickly  dotted  with  country  villas  that  it  is  not 


THE  HUDSON  RIVER. 


37 


easy  to  mark  the  beginning  or 
the  end  of  the  town.  Opposite 
Hastings,  at  Indian  Head,  the 
Palisades  reach  their  most  pict- 
uresque point,  and  at  Piermont 
they  recede  from  the  shore  and 
cease  to  make  a  feature  of  the 
river  scenery.  At  this  point, 
also,  the  river  broadens  into  a 
beautiful  bay,  ten  miles  long 
and  from  two  to  five  miles  wide, 
renowned  as  the  Tappan  Zee. 

As  the  steamer  plows  through 
the  middle  of  this  noble  expanse, 
the  scene  on  both  sides  of  the 
river  is  very  beautiful.  On  the 
western  shore  extends  a  line  of 
undulating,  richly  wooded  hills, 
at  the  foot  of  which  nestles  the 
picturesque  town  of  Nyack.  On 
the  eastern  side,  which  rises  in 
graceful,  receding  slopes,  are  the 
pleasant  villages  of  Irvington, 
Tarrytown,  and  Sing  Sing,  while 
handsome  villas  abound  on  ev- 
ery hand.  A  little  above  Irving- 
ton  and  near  the  river,  though 
hidden  from  view  by  the  dense 
growth  of  shrubbery,  is  Sunny- 
side,  the  former  home  of  Wash- 
ington Irving,  and  now  one  of 
the  classic  memorials  of  Ameri- 
can literature.  It  is  a  stone 
structure  made  of  many  gables, 
the  eastern  side  embowered  in 
ivy,  the  earlier  slips  of  which 
were  presented  to  Irving  by  Sir 
Walter  Scott  at  Abbotsford.  The 
original  house  was  built  by  Wol- 
fert  Acker,  a  privy  councilor  of  Peter  Stuyvesant,  who  had  inscribed  over  the  door  the 
Dutch  motto,  "Lust  in  Rust"  (pleasure  in  quiet).  The  house  was  thence  called  Wol- 
fert's  Rest,  corrupted  afterward  into  Wolfert's  Roost,  and  is  made  the  subject  of  one 


38 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


of  Irving's  sketches.  A  few 
miles  above  Irvington  is  Tar- 
rytown,  the  quaint  designa- 
tion of  which,  we  are  told  4jy 
Irving,  was  given  in  former 
times  by  the  good  housewives 
of  the  neighboring  country  on 
account  of  the  inveterate  hab- 
it of  their  husbands  to  linger 
about  the  village  taverns  on 
market-days.  Not  long  ago 
Tarrytowu  was  little  more 
than  a  quiet  river  settlement, 
with  a  single  wharf,  where 
sloops  received  and  delivered 
merchandise.  It  has  become 
a  large,  well-built  town,  and 
the  hills  that  overlook  it  are 
adorned  with  beautiful  resi- 
dences which  are  set  in  charm- 
ing grounds.  We  are  now 
viewing  these  shores  and  the 
towns  from  the  deck  of  a 
steamer,  but  no  one  can  fully 
appreciate  the  charms  of  the 
river  who  does  not  explore 
all  the  varied  and  picturesque 
places  that  abound  on  it ;  who 
does  not  ascend  the  hills,  note 
all  the  elegance  and  cultivation 
that  wealth  and  taste  have  lav- 
ished on  them,  and  get  varied 
glimpses  of  the  river  itself  as  it 
flows  beneath  him  covered  with 
white  sails  and  many  forms  of 
picturesque  boats.  Western  riv- 
ers have  little  more  than  steam- 
boats and  a  few  rafts.  On  the 
broad  bosom  of  the  Hudson  are 
grand  steamboats,  brilliant,  bird-like  yachts,  broad-sailed  sloops  and  schooners,  and 
groups  of  barges  and  canal-boats  in  tow  of  a  steam-tug.  The  variety  and  number  of 
the  river-craft  are  so  great  that  the  scene  is  always  an  animated  picture. 


THE  HUDSON  RIVER. 


39 


Tarrytown,  like  all  this  region,  is  historically  identified  with  the  story  of  Arnold 
and  Andre.  It  was  upon  a  spot  now  within  the  town  that  Andre  was  arrested,  while 
returning  to  the  British  lines,  after  a  visit  to  Arnold ;  and  at  Greenburg,  three  miles 


Old,  Dutch  Church,  Sleepy  Hollow. 

east  of  the  town,  a  monument  has  been  erected,  commemorating  the  event,  upon 
which  the  inscription  gives  the  date  of  the  capture,  and  the  names  of  the  three  patri- 
ots— Paulding,  Williams,  and  Van  Wart— who,  resisting  all  bribes,  seized  the  unhappy 
Andre,  and  thereby  saved  their  country. 

Another  great  interest  that  Tarrytown  possesses  is  in  its  identification  with  Wash- 
ington Irving.  Sunnyside  is  so  near  Tarrytown  that  that  renowned  author  always 
attended  Christ  Church  at  the  latter  place ;  of  this  church  he  was  warden  at  the 


40  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

time  of  his  death ;  and  upon  its  walls  a  handsome  tablet  has  been  erected  to  his 
memory. 

But  a  greater  interest  attaches  to  the  old  Dutch  church  at  Sleepy  Hollow.  "Not 
far  from  Tarrytown,"  Irving  has  written,  "there  is  a  little  valley,  or  rather  a  lap  of 
land,  among  high  hills,  which  is  one  of  the  quietest  places  in  the  whole  world.  A 
small  brook  glides  through  it,  with  just  murmur  enough  to  lull  one  to  repose ;  and 
the  occasional  whistle  of  a  quail,  or  tapping  of  a  woodpecker,  is  almost  the  only 
sound  that  ever  breaks  in  upon  the  uniform  tranquillity.  If  ever  I  should  wish  for  a 
retreat,  whither  I  might  steal  from  the  world  and  its  distractions,  and  dream  quietly 
away  the  remnant  of  a  troubled  life,  I  know  of  none  more  promising  than  this  little 
valley."  At  the  opening  of  the  Hollow,  by  the  side  of  a  winding  lane,  stands  the 
ancient  church,  which  dates  back  to  the  year  1699,  and  is  the  oldest  religious  edifice 
in  the  State.  It  is  a  quaint  little  building,  with  a  tiny  spire  inclosing  a  bell,  on  which 
is  inscribed  in  Latin,  "  If  God  be  with  us,  who  can  be  against  us  ? "  Close  by  there 
is  a  cemetery,  in  which  the  remains  of  Irving  are  buried. 

It  is  only  a  short  distance  to  the  old  bridge,  made  famous  by  Irving  in  his  legend 
of  Ichabod  Crane.  As  we  walk  over  it,  how  many  delightful  memories  are  revived  ! 
We  laugh  again  at  the  escapade  of  the  school-master,  with  his  "  soft  and  foolish  heart 
toward  the  sex,"  and  withal  we  can  not  help  liking  his  rival  in  love  for  Katrina — the 
stalwart  and  muscular  Brom  Bones.  "  Once  upon  a  time,"  the  legend  goes,  "  Ichabod 
taught  the  Dutch  urchins  the  three  elementary  R's,  and  at  the  same  time  paid  court 
to  the  fair  Katrina,  who  was  the  daughter  of  old  farmer  Van  Tassel.  Brom  Van 
Brunt,  nicknamed  Brom  Bones,  loved  the  same  maiden,  and  resolved  to  drive  the 
school-master  from  the  village.  One  dark  night  Ichabod  started  home  from  the  Van 
Tassel  house  in  very  low  spirits.  The  hour  was  as  dismal  as  himself.  Far  below 
him,  the  Tappan  Zee  spread  its  dusky  and  indistinct  waste  of  waters,  with  here  and 
there  the  tall  mast  of  a  sloop  riding  quietly  at  anchor  under  the  land.  In  the  dead 
hush  of  midnight  he  could  even  hear  the  barking  of  the  watch-dog  from  the  opposite 
shore  of  the  Hudson ;  but  it  was  so  vague  and  faint  as  only  to  give  an  idea  of  his 
distance  from  this  faithful  companion  of  man.  .  .  . 

"  Now,  a  belief  was  extant  in  a  specter  called  the  Headless  Horseman  of  Sleepy 
Hollow,  supposed  to  be  the  spirit  of  a  Hessian  trooper,  whose  head  had  been  carried 
off  by  a  cannon-ball.  Near  the  old  church  this  horrid  ghost  made  its  appearance  in 
pursuit  of  Ichabod,  who  was  bestride  an  inflexible  horse  named  Gunpowder.  The 
terrified  school-master  made  all  haste  to  reach  the  old  bridge,  passing  which  he  would 
be  beyond  the  reach  of  the  ghostly  pursuer.  He  spurred  old  Gunpowder  forward, 
but,  looking  back,  he  beheld  the  specter  close  beside  him,  in  the  very  act  of  throwing 
his  head  at  him.  The  crash  came,  Ichabod  rolled  on  the  ground,  and  the  specter 
and  Gunpowder  rushed  by  him  in  a  whirlwind.  A  shattered  pumpkin  was  found  the 
next  day  in  the  road,  and  not  long  after  Brom  Bones  led  the  fair  Katrina  to  the 
altar ;  but  Ichabod  was  never  afterward  seen  or  heard  of. " 

Mr.  Lossing,  describing  the  old  church,  says  :  "  Let  us  climb  over  the  stile  by  the 


THE  HUDSON  RIVER. 


41 


Old  Bridge,  Sleepy  Hollow. 

corner  of  the  old  church  into  the  yard  where  so 
many  pilgrims  of  the  earth  are  sleeping.  Here 
are  many  stones,  with  half-obliterated  epitaphs, 
marking  the  graves  of  the  early  settlers.  .  .  . 
Let  us  pass  up  this  narrow,  winding  path,  and 
cross  this  almost  invisible  boundary  between  the 
old  grave-yard  and  the  new  cemetery.  Here, 
well  up  toward  the  summit  of  the  hill,  near  the 

receiving-vault,  upon  a  beautiful  sunny  slope,  is  an  inclosure  made  of  iron  bars  and 
privet  hedge,  with  open  gate,  inviting  entrance.  Here,  in  line,  stand  several  slabs  of 
white  marble,  only  two  feet  in  height,  at  the  head  of  as  many  oblong  hillocks,  covered 
with  turf  and  budding  spring  flowers.  Upon  one  of  these,  near  the  center,  we  read  : 

WASHINGTON, 

SON    OF 
WILLIAM   AND   SARAH    8.    IRVING, 

DIED   NOT.   28,   18fl9, 
AGED    76   YEARS,   1  MOKTH8,    AND   28   BAYS, 

"This  is  the  grave  of  the  immortal  Geoffrey  Crayon.  Upon  it  lie  wreaths  of  with- 
ered flowers  which  have  been  killed  by  frosts  and  buried  by  drifts  of  lately  departed 
snow.  These  will  not  remain  long,  for  all  summer  fresh  and  fragrant  ones  are  laid 
upon  that  honored  grave  by  fair  hands  that  pluck  them  from  many  a  neighboring 
garden.  .  .  .  This  lonely  burial-spot,  from  which  may  be  seen  Sleepy  Hollow,  the 


OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 


ancient  church,  the  spark- 
ling waters  of  the  Po-can- 
te-co  spreading  out  into  a 
little  lake  above  the  pictur- 
esque old  dam  at  the  mill  of 
Carter  Philipse,  Sleepy  Hol- 
low Tavern,  Tappan  Bay, 
and  all  its  beautiful  sur- 
roundings, was  chosen  long 
ago  by  the  illustrious  au- 
thor of  'The  Sketch-Book' 
as  his  final  resting-place." 
Above  Nyack,  on  the 
western  shore,  the  Palisades 
come  down  once  more  to  the 
river's  edge,  and  form  a  pre- 
cipitous bluff  which  bears 
the  name  of  Verdrietigh 
Hook,  also  called  Point  No- 
Point,  owing  to  its  decep- 
tive appearance  when  seen 
from  the  river  below  as  a 
great  headland.  Sing  Sing, 
on  the  opposite  side,  is  rec- 
ognized by  the  massive  stone 
buildings,  which  constitute 
the  famous  State  prison. 
At  the  upper  end  of  the 
Tappan  Zee  the  river  nar- 
rows sharply,  and  the  vine- 
clad  Croton  Point  separates 
the  Tappan  Zee  from  Hav- 
erstraw  Bay,  which  is  an- 
other lake-like  widening  of 
the  river,  with  the  village 
of  Haverstraw  on  its  west- 
ern shore,  and  a  long  line  of 
white  limestone  cliffs.  As 
the  steamboat  crosses  this 
beautiful  bay,  the  Highlands  begin  to  loom  up  boldly  in  the  distance ;  and  at  its 
upper  end,  where  Verplanck's  Point  on  the  east  and  Stony  Point  on  the  west  contract 
the  river  to  a  comparatively  narrow  channel,  the  outlines  of  the  mountains  have  become 


THE  HUDSON  RIVER.  43 

quite  distinct.  Stony  Point  is  a  bold,  rocky  eminence,  with  a  light-house  on  the  sum- 
mit. During  the  Revolutionary  War  it  was  the  site  of  a  fort  which  had  been  captured 
by  the  British.  Mad  Anthony  Wayne  was  ordered  to  recapture  it,  and  this  he  did  by 


a  daring  assault.  With  two  columns  of  picked  men  he  advanced  close  to  the  enemy's 
picket-guard  undiscovered.  With  a  fierce  rush  the  Americans  charged  on  the  fortifi- 
cation, and  in  one  hour's  time  the  fort  and  entire  garrison  were  captured.  The  steam- 
boat now  safely  rounds  these  two  points,  and  emerges  at  the  pretty  town  of  Peekskill, 


Stony  Point  and  Haverstraw  Bay,  from  aboi't. 

so  named  after  a  Dutch  navigator,  Jan  Peek,  who,  according  to  popular  tradition,  in 
ascending  the  river,  took  the  creek  on  which  the  town  stands  for  the  main  stream, 
but  who,  becoming  enamored  of  the  spot,  settled  here  and  named  the  creek  Peek's 
Kill.  The  town  was  the  headquarters  of  General  Putnam  during  the  Revolution; 


44 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


and  here  he  hanged  a 
British  spy,  an  event 
specially  remembered 
on  account  of  the  curt 
reply  of  "Old  Put" 
to  the  British  flag  of 
truce  that  interposed 
in  the  prisoner's  be- 
half:  "Edward  Pal- 
mer, an  officer  in  the 
enemy's  service,  was 
taken  as  a  spy  lurk- 
ing within  our  lines. 
He  has  been  tried  as 
a  spy,  condemned  as 
a  spy,  and  will  be 
executed  as  a  spy. 
P.  S.— 4  p.  M.  He  is 
hanged." 

We  are  now  en- 
tering the  Highlands, 
which,  from  this  point 
to  Newburg,  a  dis- 
tance of  seventeen 
miles,  is  unsurpassed 
by  any  river-scenery 
in  the  world.  To  the 
left  may  be  seen  Dun- 
derberg,  or  Thunder 
Mountain,  whose  steep 
sides  are  perpetually 
invoking  gusts  of  wind 
and  rain  on  its  rugged 
and  bold  crest.  As 
the  legend  goes,  it  is 
the  home  of  a  boister- 
ous little  Dutch  gob- 
lin, in  trunk-hose  and 
sugar-loaf  hat,  for  an 

account  of  whom  we  must  turn  again  to  Irving:  "The  captains  of  river-craft 
declare  that  they  have  heard  him,  in  stormy  weather,  in  the  midst  of  the  turmoil, 
giving  orders  in  Low  Dutch  for  the  piping  up  of  a  fresh  gust  of  wind,  or  the 


THE  HUDSON  RIVER. 


45 


rattling  off  of  another  thunder-clap  ;  that  sometimes  he  has  been  seen  surrounded 
by  a  crew  of  little  imps,  in  broad  breeches  and  short  doublets,  tumbling  head-over- 
heels  in  the  rack  and  mist,  and  playing  a  thousand  gambols  in  the  air,  or  buzzing 


lona  Island  and  "Anthony's  Nose." 

like  a  swarm  of  flies  about  Anthony's  Nose  ;  and  that,  at  such  times,  the  hurry-scurry 
of  the  storm  was  always  the  greatest.  One  time  a  sloop,  in  passing  by  the  Dunder- 
berg,  was  overtaken  by  a  thunder-gust  that  came  scouring  round  the  mountain,  and 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


, 


seemed  to  burst  just  over 
the  vessel.  Though  tight 
and  well  ballasted,  she  la- 
bored dreadfully,  and  the  water-  came  over  the 
gunwale.  All  the  crew  were  amazed,  when  it  was 
discovered  that  there  was  a  little  white  sugar-loaf 
hat  on  the  mast-head,  known  at  once  to  be  the 
hat  of  the  Dunderberg.  Nobody,  however,  dared 
to  climb  to  the  mast-head  and  get  rid  of  this 
terrible  hat.  The  sloop  continued  laboring  and 
rocking  as  if  she  would  roll  her  mast  overboard. 
In  this  way  she  drove  quite  through  the  High- 
lands until  she  passed  Pollopel's  Island,  where  it  is  said  the  jurisdiction  of  the 
Dunderberg  spirit  ceases.  No  sooner  had  she  passed  this  bourn,  than  the  little  hat 
whirled  into  the  air  like  a  top,  carried  all  the  clouds  up  into  a  vortex,  and  hurried 


View  from  Fort  Montgomery,  looking  south. 


THE  HUDSON  RIVER. 


47 


them  back  to  the  summit  of  Dunderberg,  while  the  sloop  sailed  on  over  waters  as 
smooth  as  a  mill-pond.  Nothing  saved  the  sloop  from  utter  wreck  except  the  fact 
that  she  had  a  horseshoe  nailed  to  the  mast-head,  a  wise  precaution  against  evil 
spirits  adopted  by  all  the  Dutch  captains  that  navigated  this  haunted  river." 

Looking  across  the  river,  Anthony's  Nose  appears — a  bold  promontory,  over  twelve 


Svyar-Loaf  Mountain, — A  Storm  in  the  Highlands. 

hundred  feet  high.  It  is  massive  in  form,  sharp  in  outline,  and  has  no  peculiar 
likeness  to  the  feature  after  which  it  is  named ;  but  it  is  the  subject  of  one  of  the 
legends  recorded  by  Irving,  which  add  so  much  to  the  pleasure  of  the  traveler.  Be 
it  known,  then,  that  the  nose  of  Anthony,  Governor  Stuyvesant's  trumpeter,  was 
decked  with  the  true  regalia  of  a  king  of  good  fellows.  "Now  it  happened  that, 
bright  and  early  in  the  morning,  the  good  Anthony,  having  washed  his  burly  vis- 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

age,  was  leaning  over   the  quarter-railing  of  his 
galley,  contemplating  it  in  the  glassy  wave  below. 
Just  at  this  moment  the  illustrious  sun,  breaking 
in  all  his  splendor  from  behind  a  high  bluff  of  the 
Highlands,  did  dart  one  of 
his  most  potent  beams  full 
upon     the    refulgent    nose 
of  the    sounder  of  brass — 
-    ...  the  reflection  of  which  shot 

-.--"          straightway  down,   hissing- 
hot,    into    the    water,    and 


Cozzentfi  Hotel  and  Buttermilk 
Falls,  West  Point. 

killed  a  mighty  sturgeon 
that  was  sporting  beside  the 
vessel.  This  huge  monster 
being,  with  infinite  labor, 

hoisted  on  board,  furnished  a  luxurious  repast  to 
all  the  crew,  being  accounted  of  excellent  flavor, 
excepting  about  the  wound,  where  it  smacked  a 
little  of  brimstone ;  and  this,  on  my  veracity, 
was  the  first  time  that  ever  sturgeon  was  eaten 
in  these  parts  by  Christian  people.  When  this 
astonishing  miracle  became  known  to  Peter  Stuy- 

vesant,  he,  as  may  well  be  supposed,  marveled  exceedingly ;  and,  as  a  monument 
thereof,  he  gave  the  name  of  Anthony's  Nose  to  a  stout  promontory  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, and  it  has  continued  to  be  called  Anthony's  Nose  ever  since  that  time."  This 
mountain  is  tunneled  at  the  river-edge,  for  the  Hudson  River  Railway. 


f.     '     ' 


THE  HUDSON  RIVER.  49 

Near  this  point  is  a  picturesque  island,  called  loua,  of  Borne  three  hundred  acres 
in  extent,  lying  within  a  triangle  formed  by  Dunderberg,  Anthony's  Nose,  and  Bear 
Mountain.  Grapes  are  grown  extensively  upon  the  island,  and  the  uncultivated  por- 
tion is  a  favorite  picnic-ground  for  excursion-parties  from  New  York.  On  the  western 
bank  of  the  river,  near  the  base  of  Dunderberg,  is  a  picturesque  inlet  named  Mont- 
gomery Creek,  which  has  its  source  in  a  mountain-stream  that  tumbles  over  a  cascade 
about  half  a  mile  from  its  mouth.  Fort  Montgomery  and  Fort  Clinton  stood  on  each 
side,  their  guns  commanding  a  wide  range.  They  were  constructed  at  the  beginning 
of  the  Revolutionary  War,  and  played  important  parts  during  the  autumn  of  1777. 

Following  the  river  in  its  curve  to  the  northeast,  a  fine  view  is  obtained  of  the 
symmetrical  cone  of  Sugar-Loaf  Mountain,  at  the  foot  of  which  stood  Beverley  House, 
where  the  traitor,  Benedict  Arnold,  was  breakfasting  when  the  news  of  Andre's  capt- 
ure was  brought  him,  and  whence  he  fled  to  the  British  war-vessel  anchored  in  the 
stream  below.  From  this  point,  also,  a  distant  glimpse  of  Fort  Putnam,  of  Revolu- 
tionary fame,  may  be  had,  crowning  the  heights  on  the  left ;  and  on  the  right  we 
come  in  sight  of  Buttermilk  Falls,  descending  over  inclined  ledges  a  distance  of  one 
hundred  feet,  and  forming  at  times  a  fine  cascade,  though  the  heats  of  summer  are 
apt  to  dwindle  it  to  insignificance.  On  the  summit  of  the  cliff  above  is  the  spacious 
Cozzens's  Hotel,  one  of  the  favorite  summer  retreats  of  New  York  pleasure-seekers. 

We  have  now  arrived  at  West  Point,  the  famous  Military  Academy  of  the  United 
States.  West  Point  in  summer  is  the  theatre  of  an  endless  round  of  pleasant  dissipa- 
tions. Distinguished  visitors  crowd  in  here  in  July  and  August,  and  the  hotels  are 
filled  to  overflowing.  A  prominent  element  of  the  visitors  is  the  young-ladydom  of  the 
country,  and  the  life  of  the  cadets,  who  live  in  camp  during  this  period,  is  enlivened 
with  innumerable  picnics  and  evening  parties.  As  the  steamboat  approaches  the  land- 
ing, it  is  crowded  with  people  and  vehicles,  which  have  come  to  receive  the  new 
arrivals.  Bright  parasols  and  dainty  bonnets  blossom  in  reflection  on  the  water,  and 
peals  of  merry  laughter  ring  in  the  air. 

The  neighboring  country,  for  a  distance  of  thirty  by  forty  square  miles,  was  origi- 
nally granted  by  Governor  Fletcher,  of  New  York,  to  Captain  John  Evans,  of  the 
Royal  Artillery,  and  was  known  as  Evans's  Patent.  This  right  of  possession  was  fa- 
cated  by  an  act  of  the  Provincial  Legislature  in  1699,  and  the  heirs  of  the  new  pro- 
prietors of  the  land  disposed  of  2,105  acres  to  the  United  States  in  1826.  Until  the 
War  for  Independence,  says  Lossing,  to  whom  we  must  acknowledge  our  indebtedness 
for  many  valuable  historic  facts,  there  appears  to  have  been  no  dwelling  or  settler  on 
the  tract  excepting  such  as  was  necessary  to  secure  the  patent.  But  in  May,  1775, 
it  was  resolved  to  establish  a  military  post  in  the  Highlands,  and  fortifications  were 
built  at  several  points,  including  Forts  Clinton  and  Montgomery.  These  were  of  good 
service,  and  when  the  boom  and  chain  stretching  across  the  river  above  Peekskill  were 
destroyed  by  Sir  Henry  Clinton,  another  contrivance  of  the  same  kind  was  placed  at 
West  Point.  An  additional  fort  was  also  built,  and  was  called  Fort  Arnold,  together 
with  several  extensive  water-batteries. 


50 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


The  garrison  was  successively  commanded  by  McDougall,  Heath,  Howe,  Arnold, 
and  Knox.  General  Knox  remained  in  command  until  1785,  when  he  was  appointed 
Secretary  of  War.  In  1787-'88  the  redoubts  were  dismantled,  the  other  buildings 
sold,  and  thus  ended  the  occupation  of  West  Point  as  a  garrisoned  post. 

The  scheme  of  a 
training-school  for  sol- 
diers had  already  been 
mooted  in  Congress, 
but  it  was  not  until 
1812  that  an  act  was 
passed  authorizing  the 
establishment  of  the 
Military  Academy  on 
its  present  broad  foun- 
dations, and  since  then 
there  has  been  a  steady 
improvement  in  its  or- 
ganization and  appoint- 
ments. 

A  picturesque  road 
leads  from  the  landing 
to  the  grounds,  and, 
arrived  there,  visitors 
are  allowed  to  ramble 
through  the  massive 
buildings  and  beautiful 
avenues  at  will.  The 
Cadets'  Barracks  is  the 
most  imposing  struct- 
ure. It  is  of  stone, 
castellated  in  the  stylo 
of  the  ancient  Tudors, 
and  it  contains  one 
hundred  and  seventy- 
six  rooms,  of  which 
one  hundred  and  thir- 
ty-six are  cadets'  quar- 
ters. Each  room  is 
small,  and  very  plainly 
furnished,  the  same 
principles  being  adopt- 
ed here  as  at  the  An- 


THE  HUDSON  RIVER. 


51 


^•..-- .'    '  -.     .     . 

ps^t;  "?  -  --^^M 
~^:^r^-;"      ' 


^v 


View  at  West  Point,  north  from  the  Artillery  -  Grounds. 

napolis  Naval  Academy.     No  luxuries  are  permitted,  and  the  students  are  trained  to 
ondure  all  the  rigors  of  the  active  military  life  for  which  they  are  preparing. 

Two  persons  are  assigned  to  each  room,  and  the  entire   furniture   consists  of   two 


52  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

iron  bedsteads,  chairs,  tables,  and  a  few  other  necessary  articles.  The  cadet  is  not 
allowed  to  have  a  waiter,  a  horse,  or  dog,  but  is  required  to  make  his  own  bed  and 
keep  his  quarters  tidy.  He  is  aroused  at  five  o'clock  iu  the  morning  by  the  gun. 
At  half-past  five  his  room  must  be  in  order,  bedding  folded,  and  wash-bowl  inverted. 
Woe  betide  him  if  he  is  dilatory !  He  is  visited  by  a  superior,  who  reports  his 
delinquency,  or,  as  he  would  more  vividly  say,  "  skins "  him.  From  half-past  five 
until  seven  he  is  supposed  to  be  occupied  by  studies,  when  twenty-five  minutes  are 
allowed  him  for  breakfast ;  then  half  an  hour  for  recreation,  and  then  five  hours 
for  recitations,  class- parades,  and  other  duties.  The  time  between  noon  and  two  p.  M. 
is  allowed  for  dinner  and  recreation.  Work  is  over  at  four  o'clock,  and  the  rest  of 
the  day  is  occupied  by  amusements  and  dress-parades.  Lights  are  extinguished  in 
quarters  at  ten,  and  the  embryo  soldier  is  supposed  to  go  to  sleep. 

The  class-rooms  are  situated  in  a  stone  building  three  stories  high,  and  include  a 
chemical  laboratory,  gymnasium,  artillery  model-room,  mathematical  model-room,  pict- 
ure-gallery, and  gallery  of  sculpture.  The  Mess  Hall  is  another  building  of  fine 
proportions,  one  hundred  and  seventy  feet  in  length  and  sixty-two  in  width.  There 
are  also  an  observatory  and  library,  which  in  style  and  material  resemble  the  bar- 
racks, and  a  little  to  the  west  of  these  is  the  chapel,  built  in  1836.  It  contains  a 
fine  painting  over  the  chancel,  and  trophies  taken  from  the  British  and  Mexicans. 
On  the  walls  are  several  black-marble  tablets,  bearing  the  names,  in  gilt  letters,  of 
generals  of  Kevolutionary  fame.  Benedict  Arnold's  has  only  the  words  "  Major- 
General  -  — ,  born  1740,"  with  furrows  in  the  stone,  as  if  the  name  had  been  cut 
out.  The  administration  building,  south  of  the  chapel,  contains  the  offices  of  those 
in  charge  of  the  school. 

Each  step  brings  the  visitor  into  the  presence  of  some  interesting  object.  On  a 
pleasant  grass-plot  may  be  seen  a  chain  composed  of  links  of  the  great  iron  boom 
which  once  crossed  the  river,  which  now  inclose  the  brass  mortars  captured  from 
General  Burgoyne  at  Saratoga.  In  the  cemetery,  under  massive  sarcophagi,  lie  the 
remains  of  General  Winfield  Scott,  General  Bowen,  and  General  Robert  Anderson, 
the  defender  of  Fort  Sumter.  A  short  distance  from  Officers'  Row  is  a  bronze  statue 
of  Major-General  Sedgwick,  killed  in  the  battle  of  Spottsylvania,  which  was  erected 
by  the  Sixth  Army  Corps  to  the  memory  of  their  old  commander. 

The  grounds  are  laid  out  with  great  taste,  and  exquisite  views  present  themselves 
at  every  turn.  No  one  should  miss  seeing  Flirtation  Walk  or  Kosciuszko's  Garden. 
The  former  is  a  secluded  path,  overhung  by  trees  and  shrubbery,  and  extending  along 
the  river.  It  is  a  most  romantic  promenade,  and  much  used  by  the  cadets  and  their 
pretty  guests.  Kosciuszko's  Garden  is  said  to  have  been  the  spot  where  the  gallant 
Pole,  who  fought  so  bravely  for  America,  and  who  was  intimately  associated  with  West 
Point,  was  wont  to  spend  his  hours  of  meditation.  A  fountain  bubbles  into  a  marble 
basin  here,  fronting  some  picturesque  rocks  which  also  bear  Kosciuszko's  name. 

The  country  about  West  Point  abounds  in  lovely  scenery  of  every  description — cas- 
cades pouring  beneath  leafy  colonnades  ;  glens  nestling  in  primitive  wildness  ;  mountains 


THE  HUDSON  RIVER. 


53 


whose  peaks  are  sentinels  of 
the  fairest  landscapes  ;  and 
winding  brooks,  fringed 

with  ferns  and  mosses.  In  that  sentiment  of  quiet 
repose,  not  very  common  in  American  scenery,  the 
lover  of  Nature  will  find  the  surroundings  of  West 
Point  almost  matchless.  The  sportsman,  the  fash- 
ionable idler,  the  tourist,  and  the  artist,  here  meet 
on  common  ground,  and  find  abundance  of  mate- 
rial to  furnish  amusement  or  inspiration.  From 
an  eminence  just  in  the  rear  of  the  parade-ground 
may  be  had  a  superb  view  of  the  Highlands,  in- 
cluding the  Storm  King,  Cro'nest,  and  Breakneck 
Mountains ;  the  river,  shining  like  a  plain  of  rippling  silver ;  Newburg  Bay,  and  the 
Fishkill  Range.  In  Revolutionary  times  Fort  Putnam  stood  here,  with  guns  threaten- 
ing the  enemy  at  all  points.  It  was  the  most  important  of  the  Highland  fortifica- 
tions, and  was  erected  by  Colonel  Rufus  Putnam,  under  direction  of  Count  Kosciuszko. 


We«t  Point,  from  Fort  Putnam. 


54 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


A  portion  of  the  walls  and  some 
of  the  casemates,  grass-grown 
and  picturesque  in  their  ruin, 
still  remain  as  an  interesting 
memorial  of  the  past. 

Opposite  West  Point,  on  the 
east  bank,  is  Cold  Spring,  chiefly 
notable  for  its  iron-foundries, 
the  chimneys  of  which  pour  out 
wreaths  of  smoke,  and  it  was 
here  that  Major  Parrott  cast 
the  celebrated  guns  which  did 
such  good  service  during  the 
war  of  the  rebellion.  But,  at 
night-time,  when  the  furnaces 
glow  in  the  darkness,  and  throw 
myriad  sparks  toward  the  sky,  it 
is  weirdly  picturesque,  and  sup- 
plies a  cheerful  color  to  the  view. 
Night  in  the  Highlands,  indeed, 
is  scarcely  less  lovely  than  the 
day.  The  river  breaks  with  the 
faintest  murmur  on  the  precipi- 
tous shore ;  the  walls  of  the 
mountains  are  an  impenetrable 
blackness,  against  which  the 
starry  path  overhead  looks  the 
more  lustrous.  Trembling  ech- 
oes strike  the  hill-sides  plain- 
tively, as  a  great  steamer  cleaves 
her  way  up  the  stream,  or  a 
tow-boat,  with  a  string  of  ca- 
nal-boats in  her  wake,  struggles 
against  the  tide;  while  fleets  of 
sailing-vessels  drift  past. 

Near  Cold  Spring,  on  an  ele- 
vated plateau,  is  "  Undercliff," 
the  home  of  the  late  George  P. 

Morris,  so  well  known  as  the  author  of  "  Woodman,  spare  that  Tree,"  and  who  was 

so  long  associated  with  N.  P.  Willis  in  various  literary  ventures. 

Just  above  the  village  there  are  two  majestic  hills  separated  by  a  narrow  valley. 

The  nearest  is  called  Bull  Hill,  or  Mount  Taurus,  and  is  over  fifteen   hundred  feet 


THE  HUDSON  RIVER. 


55 


high.  It  is  said  that  long  ago  the  neighborhood  was  troubled  by  a  wild  bull,  and 
that  the  Dutch  farmers  of  those  days  formed  a  party  to  destroy  the  fierce  beast. 
They  hotly  chased  him  for  many  a  mile,  and  at  last  the  brave  Knickerbockers  drove 
him  into  the  river. 

Breakneck  Hill,  just  north  of  Cold   Spring,  is  over  eighteen  hundred  feet  high, 
and  formerly  a  huge  rock  stood  out  on  its  front,  bearing  a  wonderful  resemblance  to 


Breakneck  Mountain,  from  Little  Stony  Point. 

a  human  face.  The  picturesque  mountain  of  Cro'nest  is  the  scene  of  one  of  the 
most  charming  of  American  poems.  In  the  summer  of  1816  Fenimore  Cooper,  Fitz- 
Greene  Halleck,  Joseph  Kodman  Drake,  and  a  friend,  were  strolling  through  the 
Highlands,  when  the  conversation  turned  on  the  availability  of  Scotch  streams  and 
mountains  for  the  uses  of  poetry.  Drake,  in  opposition  to  his  friends,  took  the  ground 


56 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


that  American  scenery  was  not  less  suggestive  in  stimulating  the  fancy.  To  prove 
this  he  wrote,  in  three  days,  the  charming  poem  of  "The  Culprit  Fay,"  the  poet 
being  then  only  twenty-one  years  of  age. 

The  story  is  simple  in  construction,  but  full  of  the  most  quaint  and  graceful 
fancy.  The  fairies  who  live  on  Cro'nest  are  called  together  at  midnight  to  sit  in 
judgment  on  one  of  their  number  who  had  broken  his  vow.  He  is  sentenced  to  per- 
form a  most  difficult  task,  and  all  the  evil  spirits  of  land  and  water  oppose  him  in 
the  performance  of  his  penance.  He  is  sadly  baffled  and  tempted,  but  at  length  con- 
quers all  difficulties,  and  his  triumphant  return  is  hailed  with  dance  and  song. 

These  Cro'nest  fairies  are  a  dainty  and  luxuri- 
ous race.  Their  lanterns  are  owlets'  eyes.  Some 
of  them  repose  in  cobweb  hammocks,  swung  on 
tufted  spears  of  grass,  and  rocked  by  the  zephyrs 
of  a  midsummer  night.  Others  have  beds  of  li- 
chen, pillowed  by  the  breast-plumes  of  the  hum- 
ming-bird. A  few,  still  more  luxurious,  find 
couches  in  the  purple  shade  of  the  four-o'clock, 
or  in  the  little  niches  of  rock  lined  with  daz- 
zling mica.  Their  tables,  at  which  they  drink 
dew  from  the  buttercups,  are  velvet-like  mush- 
rooms, and  the  king's  throne  is  of  sassafras  and 
spice-wood,  with  tortoise-shell  pillars,  and  crim- 
son tulip-leaves  for  drapery.  "But  the  quaint 
shifts  and  the  beautiful  outfit  of  the  Culprit  him- 


Under  the  Cliff  of  Oro'neit. 


THE  HUDSON  RIVER. 


57 


self,"  says  a  writer  on 
Drake,  "comprise  the 
most  delectable  image- 
ry of  the  poem.  He  is 
worn  out  with  fatigue 
and  chagrin  at  the  very 
commencement  of  his 
journey,  and  therefore 
makes  captive  a  spot- 
ted toad,  by  way  of  a 
steed.  Having  bridled 
her  with  a  silk-weed 
twist,  his  progress  is 
made  rapid  by  dint  of 
lashing  her  sides  with 
an  osier  -  thong.  Ar- 
rived at  the  beach,  he 
launches  fearlessly  up- 
on the  tide,  for  among 
his  other  accomplish- 
ments the  Fay  is  a 
graceful  swimmer;  but 
his  tender  limbs  are 
so  bruised  by  leeches, 
star-fish,  and  other  wa- 
tery enemies,  that  he 
is  soon  driven  back. 

"  The  cobweb  lint 
and  balsam  dew  of  sor- 
rel and  henbane  speed- 
ily relieve  the  little 
penitent's  wounds,  and, 
having  refreshed  him- 
self with  the  juice  of 
the  calamus -root,  he 
returns  to  the  shore, 
and  selects  a  neatly 
shaped  mussel  -  shell, 

brilliantly  painted  without  and  tinged  with  a  pearl  within.  Nature  seemed  to  have 
formed  it  expressly  for  a  fairy-boat.  Having  notched  the  stern,  and  gathered  a  colen- 
bell  to  bail  with,  he  sculls  into  the  middle  of  the  river,  laughing  at  his  old  foes  as 
they  grin  and  chatter  around  his  way.  There,  in  the  sweet  moonlight,  he  sits  until 


58 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


a  sturgeon  comes  by,  and 
leaps,  all  glistening,  into  the 
silvery  atmosphere ;  then, 
balancing  his  delicate  frame 
upon  one  foot,  like  a  Lili- 
putian  Mercury,  he  lifts  the 
flowery  cup,  and  catches  the 
one  sparkling  drop  that  is 
to  wash  the  stain  from  his 
wing. 

"  Gay  is  his  return -voy- 
age. Sweet  nymphs  clasp 
the  boat's  side  with  their 
tiny  hands  and  cheerily  urge 
it  onward. 

"  His  next  enterprise  is 
of  a  more  knightly  species, 
and  he  proceeds  to  array 
himself  accordingly,  as  be- 
comes a  fairy  cavalier.  His 
acorn  helmet  is  plumed  with 
thistle  -  down,  a  bee's  -  nest 
forms  his  corselet,  and  his 
cloak  is  of  butterfly's  wings. 
With  a  lady-bug's  shell  for 
a  shield,  and  a  wasp-sting 
lance,  spurs  of  cockle-seed, 
a  bow  made  of  vine -twig 
strung  with  maize-silk,  and 
well  supplied  with  nettle- 
shafts,  he  mounts  his  fire- 
fly and,  waving  his  blade  of 
blue  grass,  speeds  upward 
to  catch  a  glimmering  spark 
from  some  flying  meteor. 
Again  the  spirits  of  evil  are 
let  loose  upon  him,  and  the 
upper  elements  are  not  more 
friendly  than  those  below.  A  sylphid  queen  enchants  him  by  her  beauty  and  kind- 
ness. But,  though  she  played  very  archly  with  the  butterfly  cloak,  and  handled  the 
tassel  of  his  blade  while  he  revealed  to  her  pitying  ear  the  dangers  he  had  passed, 
the  memory  of  his  first  love  and  the  object  of  his  pilgrimage  kept  his  heart  free. 


THE  HUDSON  RIVER.  59 

Escorted  with  great  honor  by  the  sylph's  lovely  train,  his  career  is  resumed,  and  his 
flame-wood  lamp  at  length  rekindled,  and,  before  the  sentry-elf  proclaims  a  streak  in 
the  eastern  sky,  the  Culprit  has  been  welcomed  to  all  his  original  glory." 

Turning  the  corner  of  the  Storm  King,  the  traveler's  eye  falls  on  an  elevated  reach 
of  table-land  stretching  from  the  shores  of  Newburg  Bay  to  the  base  of  the  western 
hills.  On  the  range  of  this  terrace,  near  the  southern  extremity,  is  the  many-gabled 
cottage  of  Idlewild,  once  the  home  of  N.  P.  Willis,  the  Beau  Brummel  of  American 
letters. 

"My  cottage,"  Willis  wrote,  "is  a  pretty  type  of  the  two  lives  which  they  live 
who  are  wise — the  life  in  full  view,  which  the  world  thinks  all,  and  the  life  out  of 
sight,  of  which  the  world  knows  naught.  You  see  its  front  porch  from  the  thronged 
thoroughfare  of  the  Hudson  ;  but  the  grove  behind  it  overhangs  a  deep-down  glen, 
tracked  out  by  my  own  tangled  paths  and  the  wild  torrents  which  they  by  turns 
avoid  and  follow — a  solitude  in  which  the  hourly  hundreds  of  swift  travelers  who  pass 
within  echo-distance  effect  not  the  stirring  of  a  leaf.  But  it  does  not  take  precipices 
and  groves  to  make  these  close  remotenesses.  The  city  has  many  a  one — many  a 
wall  on  the  crowded  street,  behind  which  is  the  small  chamber  of  a  life,  lived  utterly 
apart.  Idlewild,  with  its  viewless  other  side  hidden  from  the  thronged  Hudson,  its 
dark  glen  of  rocks  and  woods,  and  the  murmur  of  its  brook,  is  but  an  example  of 
every  wise  man's  inner  life  illustrated  and  set  to  music." 

Mr.  Willis  made  vagabond  and  tourist  alike  welcome  to  the  liberty  of  his  grounds. 
He  was  wont  to  say :  "  To  fence  out  a  genial  eye  from  any  corner  of  the  earth 
which  Nature  has  lovingly  touched  with  that  pencil  which  never  repeats  itself  ;  to 
shut  up  a  glen  or  a  water-fall  for  one  man's  exclusive  knowing  and  enjoying ;  to  lock 
up  trees  and  glades,  shady  paths  and  haunts  along  rivulets — it  would  be  an  embez- 
zlement by  one  man  of  Nature's  gifts  to  all.  A  capitalist  might  as  well  cut  off  a 
star,  or  have  the  monopoly  of  an  hour.  Doors  may  lock,  but  out-doors  is  a  freehold 
to  feet  and  eyes." 

On  Newburg  Bay,  which  opens  its  wide  expanse  as  the  steamboat  rounds  the  base 
of  the  Storm  King,  is  the  charming  village  of  Cornwall,  crowded  with  hotels  and 
summer  cottages,  built  apparently  one  over  the  other  on  the  slope  of  a  hill  named 
Island  Terrace  by  N.  P.  Willis.  Here  the  Moodna,  a  brawling  stream,  sparkling 
from  its  dash  down  the  hills,  pours  into  the  Hudson.  It  was  once  named  Murderer's 
Creek,  in  memory  of  a  savage  Indian  massacre.  Four  miles  north  stands  the  thriving 
city  of  Newburg,  which  is  built  on  a  hill-side  with  terraced  streets.  The  river-front 
is  lined  with  capacious  docks,  where  lie  a  fleet  of  sloops,  schooners,  and  canal-boats. 
Many  of  the  streets  are  sheltered  by  shade-trees,  and  the  houses  embowered  in  shrub- 
bery. The  house  in  this  city  where  Washington  had  his  headquarters  was  the  scene 
of  important  events  toward  the  close  of  the  Revolutionary  War,  and  is  now  a  museum 
of  numerous  interesting  relics.  The  central  room  of  the  old  gray  mansion  is  a  quaint 
old  place,  with  antique  chairs  and  tables  and  a  famous  fire-place  with  glistening  brass 
andirons,  on  which  in  the  old  days  the  pine  crackled  and  blazed  in  a  royal  way,  while 


60 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


the  great  commander  of  the  Continental  forces  sat  with  outstretched  feet,  meditating 
on  the  battles  which  decided  the  fate  of  the  country.  Above  Newburg  Bay,  the  river 
narrows,  and  the  banks  are  high,  though  not  precipitous.  Soon  the  boat  approaches 
the  city  of  Poughkeepsie,  seventy-five  miles  from  New  York.  Below  it  is  the  village 
of  Milton  Ferry,  where  lived  the  patriotic  blacksmith  who  forged  the  iron  links  of  the 


The  Highlands^  smith  from  Newbnrg. 

chain  that  stretched  across  the  river  at  Fort  Montgomery.  This  service  to  his  coun- 
try he  afterward  expiated  in  the  British  prison-ships.  Poughkeepsie  was  an  old  Dutch 
town,  settled  at  the  close  of  the  seventeenth  century.  It  is  now  widely  known,  though 
otherwise  a  prosperous  place,  as  the  seat  of  the  celebrated  women's  college  founded 
by  Matthew  Vassar,  at  which  three  hundred  and  fifty  women  receive  an  excellent 
collegiate  training.  The  college  buildings  cover  an  area  of  fifty  thousand  square  feet, 


THE  HUDSON  RIVER. 


61 


and  the  park  in  which  they  are  set,  originally  made  picturesque  and  romantic  by 
Nature,  has  been  further  adorned  at  great  expense  and  with  excellent  taste.  A  short 
distance  beyond  this  thriving  city  a  first  glimpse  is  caught  of  the  Catskill  Mountains, 
whose  blue  peaks  silhouette  the  horizon  on  the  northwest,  and  for  thirty  miles  an 
almost  continuous  panorama  of  mountain  scenery,  to  which  distance  lends  a  peculiar 
enchantment,  may  be  enjoyed. 

The  Catskills,  which  now  lend  their  peculiar  charm  to  the  river,  form  the  termi- 
nation of  a  ridge  of  the  Appalachian  chain  which  enters  the  State  from  Pennsylvania 
and  extends  through  Sullivan,  Ulster,  and  Greene  Counties.  They  rise  abruptly  on 
their  eastern  side,  and  are  ascended  by  a  winding  road  at  the  edge  of  a  deep  glen, 
near  the  head  of  which  is  an  amphitheatre,  inclosed  by  lofty  ridges,  where  Rip  Van 
Winkle  fell  into  his  long  sleep.  This  legend  has  been  made  familiar  wherever  the 
English  language  is  spoken  by  Irving's  exquisite  fancy  and  Jefferson's  acting,  and  the 
fate  of  the  village  ne'er-do-well  constitutes  an  episode  of  fancy  most  delicious  to  every 


Catskill  Mountains,  from  Tivoli. 

one's  sense  of  humor.  Catskill  Landing  is  one  hundred  and  eleven  miles  from  New 
York,  on  the  western  shore.  The  Catskill  River  enters  the  Hudson  near  by,  rushing 
between  rocky  bluffs  in  a  deep  channel,  which  close  to  its  mouth  is  navigable  for 
large  vessels.  Here  Henry  Hudson  anchored  the  Half  Moon  on  the  29th  of  Septem- 
ber, 1609,  and  was  visited  by  the  Indians. 

Beyond  the  city  of  Hudson  the  scenery  is  not  striking,  an'd  nothing  demands 
attention  until  the  steeple-crowned  heights  of  Albany  break  on  the  eye,  one  hundred 
and  forty-five  miles  from  New  York  city.  So  ends  a  river- voyage  which,  taken  for 
all  in  all,  has  but  few  rivals  in  the  varied  delights  with  which  it  feasts  the  love  of 
the  beautiful  and  picturesque. 

At  Troy,  six  miles  above  Albany,  tide-water  ceases,  and  beyond  this  the  river  is  a 
rapid,  rocky  stream,  navigable  only  for  small  craft.  At  Glens  Falls,  fifty  miles  from 
Albany,  on  the  way  to  Lake  George,  the  tourist  may  again  see  the  Hudson  in  one  of 
its  most  picturesque  phases,  where,  as  in  a  brawling  mountain-torrent,  it  rushes  in  a 
series  of  tumultuous  rapids  and  cascades  down  eighty  feet  of  stony  and  precipitous 


62 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


The  Hudson  at  Glens  falls. 


THE  HUDSON  RIVER. 


63 


descent.  Glens  Falls  will  recall  to  the  memory  of  the  admirer  of  Cooper  one  of  the 
most  exciting  adventures  in  the  novel  of  "The  Last  of  the  Mohicans."  By  leaving 
far  behind  him  the  more  civilized  appliances  of  travel,  the  tourist  may  penetrate  to 
the  heart  of  the  Adirondacks,  where,  in  the  great  gorge  known  as  the  Indian  Pass,  in 
whose  cold  depths  the  ice  of  winter  never  entirely  melts,  he  will  reach  a  crystal  spring 
whose  waters  plash  softly  over  its  pebbly  bottom.  Here  he  will  find  the  source  of  the 
Hudson — at  one  end  a  lonely  mountain-brook,  where  the  wolf,  the  deer,  the  panther, 
and  the  bear  quench  their  thirst ;  at  the  other,  three  hundred  miles  away,  a  magnifi- 
cent city,  one  of  the  imperial  centers  of  the  world's  wealth  and  civilization.  From 
one  extreme  to  the  other  the  traveler  may  pass  in  little  more  than  forty-eight  hours. 
Such  is  the  Hudson,  a  noble  stream,  bearing  on  its  silvery  bosom  the  commerce  of  a 
continent,  and  set  in  such  a  superb  frame  of  beautiful  scenery  as  to  make  it  world- 
famous.  History  and  legend  have  contributed,  too,  to  invest  its  hills  and  forests  with 
the  mellow  perspective  of  fancy,  and  people  its  lovely  slopes  and  frowning  cliffs  with 
the  most  fascinating  associations.  To  him  who  makes  his  first  journey  on  these  waters, 
the  excursion  will  remain  as  one  of  the  pleasant  events  of  his  life. 


Source  of  the  Jfudaon. 


SCENERY  OF  THE   PACIFIC  RAILWAYS. 

PA  RT     I. 

OMAHA     TO     OGDEN. 

The  noblest  scenery  of  the  West  adjacent  the  great  transcontinental  lines — A  bird's-eye  view  of  some  of  the  greatest 
natural  wonders  of  the  world — The  former  sufferings  of  emigrants  over  a  long  and  dreary  trail — The  present 
luxury  of  travel  over  the  same  route — Omaha,  the  eastern  terminus  of  the  Union  Pacific — The  first  glimpse  of 
the  Western  Plains — Cheyenne  and  its  surroundings — A  typical  Western  town  in  its  growth — The  Black  Hills 
— The  Great  Laramie  Plains — Twilight  in  the  desert — Incidents  of  railway-travel — The  great  dividing  ridge  of 
the  continent — The  wonderful  color  and  shapes  of  the  rocks — The  marvels  of  Red  Canon — Green  River — The 
Uintah  Mountains — Gilbert's  Peak — Hayden's  Cathedral — The  wonderful  church — Buttes  of  Wyoming — The 
borders  of  Utah — Utah  the  home  of  much  of  the  noblest  Western  scenery— A  desert  turned  into  a  garden  by 
irrigation — Early  Mormon  life — Echo  Canon  and  its  great  precipices — Weber  Canon — Lofty  walls  of  rock 
painted  by  Nature  in  the  richest  colors  and  carved  in  every  variety  of  shape — All  this  region  once  a  grand 
internal  ocean — The  Thousand-Mile  Tree  and  the  Devil's  Slide — The  Devil's  Gate  and  Ogden  Canon. 

MUCH  of  the  noblest  scenery  of  the  West  lies  adjacent  to  the  tracks  of  the  Pacific 
Railways,  and  the  tourist  in  search  of  the  beautiful  has  within  easy  reach  of  his  vision, 
from  the  almost  interminable  bands  of  iron  which  complete  the  links  binding  the 
Pacific  to  the  Atlantic,  such  views  of  the  sublime  and  picturesque  in  Nature  as  may 
satisfy  the  passion  of  the  most  curious  and  eager  of  sight-seers.  The  sage-plains  of 
Colorado  and  New  Mexico  are  repeated  wearisomely  between  Omaha  and  Cheyenne, 
and  in  the  great  Humboldt  Desert ;  the  miraculous  mesas,  or  table-lands,  of  the  Black 
Hills  and  the  Yellowstone,  with  their  broadly  defined  strata  of  crude  color,  have  their 
counterparts  on  the  borders  of  Green  River ;  the  fantastic  erosions  of  sandstones  that 
have  made  the  Monument  Park  of  Colorado  famous,  crop  out  on  the  line  so  fre- 
quently that  they  cease  to  excite  any  wonder ;  and  the  grandeur  of  the  abrupt  canons 
that  cleave  the  heart  of  the  main  Rocky  range  may  be  judged  from  the  sheer  walls 
and  purple  chasms  of  Echo,  Weber,  and  the  American  River  Canons. 

The  first  revelation  of  the  mountains  is  inspiring,  indeed,  and  one  is  conscious  of 
a  thrill  of  excitement  as  the  solemn  line  of  peaks  slowly  rises  above  the  sharp  horizon 
with  its  patches  of  intensely  white  snow,  that  glitter  with  rainbow-hues  in  the  sun- 
shine. A  stranger  marvels  when  he  is  told  how  distant  and  immensely  high  the 
nearest  of  the  pinnacles  is,  and  that  from  one  of  them  a  hundred  and  fifty  others, 
each  over  twelve  thousand  feet  high,  can  be  seen.  Yet  they  seem  to  be  neither  very 
high  nor  very  far  off.  No  mountains  in  this  land  of  lucid  skies  ever  do,  and  it  is 


OMAHA    TO   OGDEN. 


65 


.     '     -':      V;-:";^ 

'-  .  v»iv» 


jTA«  Union,  Pacific  Depot  at  Omaha. 

only  by  reference  to  experience  that  we  can  convince  ourselves  of  their  truly  great 
altitude.  As  we  continue  to  look  at  them — the  hollows  holding  pools  of  blue  haze — 
and  the  innumerable  intermediate  ridges  become  visible,  it  dawns  upon  us  by  degrees 
how  vast  they  are. 

The  desert  between  Ogden  and  Truckee  is  duller  than  that  between  Omaha  and 
Cheyenne — duller  than  Sahara  itself — a  sterile  basin  locked  in  by  sterile  mountains, 
and  overcast  by  the  brooding  despondency  of  a  wintry  sea.  Who,  left  to  himself,  is 
proof  against  ennui  here  ?  Who  is  not  affected,  more  or  less,  by  the  sadness  and 
stillness  of  the  purple  mountains  ?  It  is  a  fortunate  thing  that  the  length  of  the 


66  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

journey  admits  of  a  degree  of  intimacy  between  the  passengers,  and  that  the  outward 
ugliness  may  be  forgotten  in  social  intercourse.  A  great  river  is  sucked  into  the 
thirsty  sand,  and  all  Nature  shows  a  resolute  opposition  to  fertility. 

One  of  the  curious  rocks  of  Green  River,  Echo,  or  Weber  Canon,  set  up  in  Eng- 
land, or  any  part  of  Europe,  would  make  a  popular  resort ;  but  strange  geological 
developments  are  multiplied  indefinitely  along  the  line  of  the  Pacific  Railways — and 
we  soon  learn  that  the  mere  oddities  of  creation  have  no  lasting  charm.  In  these 
canons,  however,  there  is  superlative  grandeur,  both  in  the  enormous  bluffs  a  thou- 
sand or  more  feet  high,  and  in  the  barriers  of  rock  that  would  seem  impenetrable 
were  it  not  for  the  positive  evidence  of  the  long  tunnels,  cuttings,  and  bridges. 
Probably  this  is  the  grandest  railway  scenery  in  the  world,  and  it  certainly  is  among 
the  grandest  scenery  of  the  American  Continent.  From  the  yellow-green  plains  we 
are  borne  down  a  steep  slope  into  the  very  heart  of  the  Wahsatch  Mountains ;  through 
a  red- walled  ravine,  by  a  frothing  mountain-stream,  among  wind-  and  water-worn 
miracles  of  sandstone  and  granite,  and  out  into  the  beautiful  valley  of  the  Great  Salt 
Lake,  as  the  warm  haze  of  sunset  is  mellowing  the  circling  peaks  and  flooding  the 
gardens  of  Ogden  with  its  gold.  Whatever  the  territory  may  be  beyond  the  belt  of 
Utah  traversed  by  the  Union  Pacific  Railway,  it  is  the  best-looking  agricultural  region 
between  Iowa  and  California.  Yellow  hay-ricks,  waving  fields  of  corn  and  wheat, 
and  plethoric  orchards,  make  a  most  grateful  relief  to  the  wonder-land  of  rocks 
through  which  the  traveler  has  come ;  but  they  are  soon  passed,  and  the  train 
whirls  out  from  Ogden  into  a  white  alkali  plain  bordering  the  Salt  Lake.  The 
next  day's  journey  is  the  most  wearisome  of  all.  The  Humboldt  Desert  throws  up  a 
stifling  cloud  of  dust,  and  the  few  little  sandy  stations  are  the  only  evidences  of 
civilization  ;  and  these  stopping-places,  aside  from  the  needs  of  the  railroad,  appar- 
ently only  serve  to  supply  a  few  beastly  and  besotted -looking  vagrants  the  means  to 
get  drunk  on  wretched  whisky.  During  the  following  evening  and  night  the  pas- 
senger crosses  the  Sierras,  and  on  the  next  day,  the  last  of  the  journey,  makes  the 
passage  of  the  American  Canon,  Cape  Horn,  and  the  fertile  valley  of  the  Sacramento. 
Such  in  epitome  is  the  ground  over  which  the  reader  is  invited  to  accompany  us  in 
a  trip  across  the  continent,  which,  now  accomplished  in  four  days  from  Omaha  to 
San  Francisco,  was  not  many  years  ago  a  desperate  undertaking  of  such  difficulty, 
exposure,  peril,  and  hardship,  that  even  the  hardiest  recoiled  from  it  with  a  feeling  of 
dread.  The  sufferings  of  overland  emigrants,  in  the  days  when  this  arduous  journey 
was  made  with  ox-teams,  were  almost  beyond  conception.  The  bones  of  hundreds  of 
poor  wretches,  who  starved  or  thirsted  to  death,  or  were  massacred  by  the  Indians 
or  the  then  equally  savage  Mormons,  lie  bleaching  along  this  whole  track  of  death 
and  despair.  The  stories  of  heroic  daring  and  adventure,  of  patient  suffering  and 
persevering  toil,  which  fill  the  record  of  the  progress  of  that  vanguard  of  civilization 
who  crossed  the  Western  Plains  in  emigrant-caravans,  make  up  a  fascinating  nar- 
rative, though  sad  in  its  constantly  recurring  episodes  of  struggle  against  Indian 
butchery  and  the  still  more  insidious  perils  of  hunger  and  thirst.  What  a  contrast 


OMAHA    TO   OGDEN.  67 

does  to-day  furnish  !  The  luxurious  traveler  is  whirled  along  at  the  rate  of  thirty 
miles  an  hour  in  richly  furnished  palace-coaches,  and  fes  has  hardly  time  to  fairly 
enjoy  the  passing  glances  at  the  magnificent  scenery  when  he  finds  himself  in  the 
metropolis  of  the  Pacific  coast. 

Omaha,  at  which  point  we  start  on  our  long  journey,  is  a  prosperous  city  of  more 
than  twenty  thousand  population,  an  increase  of  seventy-five  per  cent  in  ten  years. 
It  is  on  the  western  side  of  the  Missouri  River,  which  is  spanned  by  a  bridge  twenty- 
seven  hundred  and  fifty  feet  long,  and  its  principal  industries  are  in  breweries, 
distilleries,  brick-yards,  smelting  and  refining  works.  The  Union  Pacific  depot  is  a 
handsome  structure,  that  was  built  a  few  years  ago.  It  contains  every  convenience 
for  the  traveler,  including  waiting-rooms,  restaurants,  a  money-exchange,  and  ticket- 
offices.  The  scene  of  the  departure  and  arrival  of  the  transcontinental  train  is  of 
the  liveliest  kind.  There  is  a  mingling  of  many  races  and  many  costumes.  Sleeping- 
car  porters  and  conductors,  brakesmen,  news-agents,  railway-police,  emigrants,  soldiers, 
plainsmen,  fashionable  tourists,  commercial  travelers,  and  occasional  Indians,  give 
spice  and  variety  to  the  throng,  and  towns-people  crowd  in  to  share  the  excitement. 
But  the  consequences  of  the  confusion  are  helped  by  the  admirable  system  for  the 
rechecking  of  baggage,  etc.,  and  the  intelligence  of  the  railway  attendants.  The 
least  experienced  of  travelers  is  sure  to  find  himself  comfortably  seated  when  the 
train  starts,  leaving  the  city  behind  and  entering  the  rich  farm-lands  of  Nebraska 
without  a  care,  as  far  as  the  journey  is  concerned,  on  his  mind. 

The  verdant  farm-lands  are  soon  succeeded,  however,  by  the  plains,  the  monotony 
of  which  is  excessive.  Billow  follows  billow  of  land  into  the  uncertain  gray  of  the 
horizon,  speckled  with  rings  and  tufts  of  faint  green,  and  jeweled  with  little  patches 
of  wild-verbena.  On  the  dreariest  day  at  sea  the  tossing  of  the  waves  gives  an  exhila- 
rating sense  of  motion,  and  the  eye  is  gratified  by  the  prismatic  flashings  of  sunbeams 
among  the  spray.  On  the  plains  the  hilly  waves  are  repeated,  but  they  are  paralyzed 
and  dumb,  and  communicative  of  blight  only.  The  prevailing  color  is  a  greenish 
yellow ;  the  sense  touched  is  that  of  vacancy.  Occasionally  the  land  seems  to  sink 
into  a  basin  surrounded  by  hogsheads,  a  form  of  rock  which  presents  a  steep  and 
rough  escarpment  on  one  side,  and  on  the  other  slopes  off  by  easy  gradations  to  the 
level.  But  there  is  no  great  elevation,  and  the  spectator  rather  gets  the  idea  of  con- 
traction than  of  immensity.  At  intervals  of  twenty  or  thirty  miles  a  red  tank  with 
a  creaking  windmill  marks  a  water-station,  at  which  the  passengers  alight  to  gather 
prairie-flowers ;  and  still  farther  apart  some  little  white  towns,  with  names  reminis- 
cent of  frontier-life,  tell  a  story  to  which  the  copper-skinned,  dirty  mendicants, 
crowding  the  stations,  are  a  fitting  pendant.  In  some  places  wagon-trains  of  emi- 
grants may  be  even  yet  seen  toiling  along  in  their  dusty  route  not  far  from  the 
track,  though  now  under  conditions  of  far  less  peril  than  of  yore. 

At  Omaha  the  elevation  is  nine  hundred  and  sixty-six  feet  above  the  sea.  At 
Cheyenne,  a  distance  of  five  hundred  and  sixteen  miles,  the  elevation  is  six  thousand 
and  forty-one  feet.  The  peculiarity  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  is,  that  they  rise  in  a 


68  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

gradually  ascending  plateau  for  this  distance  so  gently  that  the  traveler  is  hardly 
conscious  of  the  change  except  by  the  difference  in  the  temperature  till  he  reaches 
Hillsdale,  twenty  miles  east  of  Cheyenne,  when  he  catches  a  glimpse  of  the  Eocky 
Mountains,  proper,  and  at  Cheyenne  they  have  so  far  loomed  upon  the  horizon  as  to 
form  a  massive  background  to  the  landscape.  Between  Omaha  and  Cheyenne  we  are 
carried  through  sixty-eight  stations  which  have  but  little  to  recommend  them  to  the 
notice  of  the  traveler.  Nearly  all  these  stopping-places  have  the  same  characteristics. 
They  have  heen  of  rapid  growth,  and  vary  in  population  from  several  thousands  to  a 
score  or  less.  Between  them  the  plains  rise  and  fall  monotonously,  keeping  the  trav- 
eler's interest  only  half  awake  by  prairie-dog  villages  and  herds  of  antelope.  The 
North  Platte  Kiver  only  breaks  the  sameness.  Buffaloes  have  long  since  disappeared 
from  the  vicinity  of  the  tracks,  and  the  passengers  rejoice  when  the  undulations  are 
broken  by  the  first  glimpse  of  the  Eocky  Mountains.  The  train  passes  under  snow- 


The  Platte  Mcer,  near  Xorth  Plattt. 

sheds  and  between  snow-fences,  and  presently  stops  at  Cheyenne,  where  the  Denver 
branch  of  the  Kansas  Pacific  Eailway  connects  with  the  Union  Pacific,  affording  tour- 
ists a  chance  to  visit  every  noted  place  in  Colorado. 

Cheyenne  is  only  fourteen  years  old,  the  first  house  having  been  built  in  1867. 
A  month  afterward  building-lots  were  sold  for  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  and 
three  months  from  that  time  resold  for  twenty  times  that  amount.  The  air  now 
resounds  with  the  click  of  the  hammer  and  the  tap  of  the  trowel,  and  the  first 
wooden  buildings  are  rapidly  giving  way  to  structures  of  brick  and  stone.  The 
car-shops  of  the  Union  Pacific  road  are  located  here,  an  industry  of  considerable  im- 
portance to  the  place. 

After  leaving  Cheyenne  the  snow-fences  and  snow-sheds  become  more  frequent, 
indicating  how  terrible  the  winter  storms  are.  A  plaintive  look  of  fear  may  be 
seen  on  the  faces  of  the  immigrants  in  the  forward  cars,  and  an  occasional  mutter  is 
heard.  A  stock-raiser  points  out  an  ominous  little  valley  in  which  several  thousand 


OMAHA    TO    OGDEN. 

"        :~ 


69 


sheep  were  frozen  to  death 
in  one  night,  and  a  scat- 
tering of  bleached  bones 

confirms  his  story.  Here  we  cross  a  shallow  canon, 
and  the  track  is  hedged  on  both  sides  by  a  fence. 
The  wind  blows  with  such  fury  in  winter  that  it 
lifts  the  snow  up  out  of  this  ravine  and  over  the 
bridge  on  which  the  railway  is  carried.  Bleak  and 
profitless  hills  of  loose  sand,  strewed  with  bowlders 
and  ribbed  with  buttresses  of  weathered  granite, 
limit  the  prospect ;  and  the  high  peaks  of  Colora- 
do, which  were  visible  as  we  approached  Cheyenne, 
are  hidden  by  the  intermediate  ridges.  But  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Sherman,  thirty-three  miles  from  jsi,H-k  Hills,  near  Sherman. 

Cheyenne,  these  superb  mountains  reappear,  stretch- 
ing a  hundred  miles  or  more  to  the  southward,  bathed  in  white  vapor  near  the  sum- 
mits, profoundly  blue  as  they  slope  down  to  the  foot-h'1'  '--ared  with  broad  streaks 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


Maiden's  Slide.  Dale  Greek. 


of  light,  dazzling  snow- 
fields,  and  spreading  shad- 
ows. Their  appearance 
during  one  hour  eludes  recognition  the  next.  At 
one  season  and  in  one  condition  of  the  atmosphere 
they  are  enormous  masses  of  bare  and  rugged 
rock,  noticeable  only  for  their  great  size  ;  again, 
they  are  dense  masses  of  blue  thrown  up  against 
the  horizon  like  an  impending  storm ;  and,  on 
a  clear  evening,  the  passionate  western  sun  sets 
them  ablaze  with  a  glowing  crimson  that  quickly 
changes  to  a  pallid  gray  before  the  approaching 
night. 

The  Black  Hills  that  we  are  gently  ascending, 

and  that  extend  into  the  north,  have  little  or  no 

:fliant   in   height   and   dull   in  color.      A  few  stout 

-ncy  of  the  weather,  struggle  out  of  the  crev- 


OMAHA    TO   OGDEN. 


71 


ices  between  detached  masses  of  tempestuous  rock,  and  these  are  the  only  touches  of 
vegetation  that  can  be  discovered. 

We  now  arrive  at  a  station  which  has  a  height  of  somewhat  more  than  eight 
thousand  feet  above  the  sea.  Sherman  is  said  to  be  one  of  the  highest  railway- 
stations  in  the  world,  but  so  gradually  do  we  ascend  that  it  is  difficult  to  realize  the 


Jied  Suites,  Laramie  Plaint. 

fact.  From  this  point  to  the  Laramie  Plains  the  traveler  is  carried  through  au 
amazing  region  of  rock  diablerie,  where  the  granite  and  sandstones  are  cast  in  such 
odd  shapes  that  they  seem  to  be  the  work  of  goblin  architects  or  the  embodiment  of 
a  madman's  fancy.  Pillars  which  caricature  the  forms  of  man  and  beast ;  circular 
and  square  towers  that  might  have  been  parts  of  a  mediaeval  stronghold ;  massive 


72  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

structures  that  have  no  small  resemblance  to  the  fortress  itself  ;  and  absurd  shapes 
unlike  anything  seen  on  earth  or  heard  of  in  heaven,  barricade  the  track  on  both 
sides.  Sometimes  these  are  honey-combed  with  tiny  cells  like  worm-eaten  wood  ; 
sometimes  they  are  yellow-ochre  in  color  or  pale  green  ;  and  again  they  are  a  vivid 
crimson,  or  the  several  strata  are  marked  with  different  tints.  In  Dale  Creek  CaDon, 
only  two  miles  from  Sherman,  the  railway  crosses  by  a  long  trestle-work  bridge  one 
hundred  and  twenty-seven  feet  high.  Here,  among  other  rock-wonders,  is  a  great  pile 
called,  for  some  strange  reason,  the  Maiden's  Slide,  and  another  pile  bears  the  ghastly 
name  of  Skull  Rocks,  from  its  curious  resemblance.  The  Red  Buttes,  at  the  western 
end  of  the  bridge,  are  queer  rock  statues,  misshapen  and  grotesque,  and  crimson  in 
color. 

The  great  Laramie  Plains,  which  we  are  now  about  to  cross,  are  some  forty  miles 
wide  and  a  hundred  miles  long,  between   the  Black   Hills  and  Medicine  Bow  Mount- 


Lmigr 


ains.  They  furnish  the  best  grazing  in  the  United  States,  and  they  are  overrun  by 
enormous  flocks  of  sheep,  who  find  here  the  most  juicy  and  fattening  grasses.  Sheep- 
herding  is  the  great  industry  of  this  region,  and  some  large  fortunes  have  been  made 
by  the  ranchmen  of  the  Laramie  Plains.  We  find  the  immigrant  trail  following  the 
railway  closely  through  this  part  of  the  route.  Canvas-covered  wagons  drawn  by  ox- 
teams  are  often  passed,  sometimes  alone,  sometimes  in  a  train.  The  whole  establish- 
ment of  a  migrating  family — men,  women,  and  children,  furniture,  cattle,  and  pets — 
is  included  in  the  caravan  ;  and  in  the  evening  it  is  not  uncommon  to  see  the  wan- 
derers drawn  up  by  the  side  of  a  spring  or  brook  for  the  night — the  women  busy 
over  the  camp-fire,  and  the  men  attending  to  the  cattle  or  smoking  under  the  shel- 
ter of  the  wagons.  The  Indian  wigwams,  which  in  the  early  days  of  the  railway 
might  have  been  seen  clustered  along  the  track  or  close  on  the  outskirts  of  the  newly 
settled  towns,  have  now  disappeared,  and  the  filthy,  copper-hued  vagabond  who  once 


OMAHA    TO   OGDEN.  73 

begged  pennies  at  the  stations  is  now  nearly  as  scarce  as  the  buffalo  that  once  black- 
ened these  plains  with  their  swarms. 

Arriving  at  Laramie  City,  which  is  on  the  river  of  the  same  name,  we  find  a  well- 
built  place  of  about  three  thousand  people,  and  adorned  with  fine  public  and  private 
buildings.  Rich  deposits  of  antimony,  cinnabar,  gold,  silver,  lead,  plumbago,  and  other 
minerals  are  found  within  thirty  miles  of  the  city,  and  it  has  all  the  aspects  of  an 
active  mining-town,  as  the  miners  come  here  to  get  their  stores  and  spend  their 
money.  Between  the  miners  and  the  cow-boys,  or  ranchmen,  there  are  times  when 
Laramie  City  is  like  a  pandemonium  with  its  drunken,  fighting  desperadoes,  and  even 
the  presence  of  the  troops  at  Fort  Landers,  near  by,  seems  to  have  but  little  influence 
at  the  times  of  these  periodic  "sprees."  Looking  west  from  the  city,  we  see  Elk 
Mountain,  one  of  the  Medicine  Bow  range,  rising  7,152  feet  above  the  sea. 

Soon  after  passing  Laramie,  and  while  we  are  still  rolling  over  the  fertile  plains, 
the  night  sweeps  up  from  the  east  in  a  smoky-looking  cloud  and  overtakes  the  speed- 
ing train ;  but,  before  the  relapse  of  light  into  final  darkness,  there  is  the  brief  glory 
of  the  western  sunset,  with  its  splendors  of  crimson  and  gold,  its  dying  gleams  of 
opal  light,  and  peaceful  blues  and  grays.  No  ugliness  can  assert  itself  in  this  part- 
ing look  of  the  day.  The  mean  little  dug-out  and  the  low  hovel  of  the  mines  are 
redeemed  from  their  squalor  and  unshapeliness,  and  changed  until  they  become  pleas- 
ant to  the  sight.  The  low-lying  plain  and  the  swampy  stream  meandering  it  borrow 
color  from  the  expiring  light ;  the  plain  is  a  red-brown,  and  the  river  is  overcast 
with  a  skim  of  brassy  yellow.  The  distant  mountains  are  folded  in  a  wonderful  blue 
or  purple — which  it  is  we  can  scarcely  tell — and  every  bend  and  peak  in  their  summit- 
line  is  lit  up  with  startling  distinctness.  The  clattering  train  does  not  break  the 
spell  of  silence  and  loneliness  that  settles  with  twilight  on  the  land,  though  it  sug- 
gests civilization  and  the  fast-beating  pulse  of  commerce ;  on  the  contrary,  it  adds 
weirdness  to  the  scene  as  it  twists  among  the  hillocks,  disappearing  under  a  snow- 
shed  for  a  minute,  and  reappearing  with  a  roar  and  a  blaze.  It  is  like  a  ship  adrift 
at  sea :  whence  it  has  come  is  only  indicated  by  the  clogging  wreath  of  smoke  that 
hangs  low  upon  the  earth  behind  it,  and  its  destination  is  unforeshadowed  by  the 
gleam  of  a  human  habitation  in  the  dusk  ahead.  At  this  time  the  work  of  the 
railway  company  in  projecting  an  iron  pathway  into  so  wild  and  desolate  a  region 
impresses  us  as  it  has  not  impressed  us  before. 

We  pass  from  stretch  to  stretch  of  plain,  bounded  by  the  same  whited  peaks,  and 
not  different  in  any  important  particular  from  the  stretch  before  it.  The  telegraph- 
poles  are  the  only  projections  nearer  than  the  mountains,  and  a  flock  of  birds,  or 
sheep,  or  a  herd  of  cattle  in  the  neighborhood  of  a  roughly  timbered  ranch,  is  the 
only  reward  of  the  patient  tourist,  who  sits  in  pensive  martyrdom  at  the  car-window 
with  a  praiseworthy  but  foolish  resolve  to  comprehend  the  whole  country.  The  wheels 
of  the  train  beat  their  humdrum  on  the  iron  rails  ;  the  novel  is  again  taken  up ;  and 
the  game  of  whist,  euchre,  or  casino  is  resumed,  as  the  passenger  gives  up  the  task 
of  sight-seeing  in  despair. 


74  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

Travelers  who  are  thrown  together  in  this  long  railway  trip  soon  become  as  socia- 
ble as  if  they  had  known  each  other  all  their  lives,  and  the  most  oddly  dissimilar 
people  strike  up  hearty  friendships  that  last  for  a  life-time  afterward.  We  meet  tour- 
ists from  all  parts  of  the  world,  who  become  jolly  companions  at  once.  That  well- 


Elk  Mountain. 

bred,  quiet-looking  man  in  gray  tweed  we  find  to  be  an  English  earl,  though  it  is  a 
good  while  before  the  fact  comes  out,  and  then  in  a  merely  chance  way.  He  is  as 
pleasant  and  affable  as  a  commercial  drummer,  and  far  better  mannered.  The  hale, 
blunt,  stout  man  in  the  opposite  seat  is  a  Kent  or  Hampshire  farmer  from  the  old 
country,  who,  with  his  wife  and  daughter,  that  bloom  like  two  dahlias,  is  taking 
the  holiday  of  a  life-time  ;  and,  though  as  English  as  the  Tower  of  London,  he  won- 
ders that  any  one  should  take  him  to  be  a  John  Bull.  His  praise  and  blame  of 


OMAHA    TO    OGDEN. 


75 


what  he  sees  are  divided  between  the  depth  of  the  soil  and  the  impudence  of  the 
charges  at  the  eating-houses  on  the  route.  The  round-faced  man  in  spectacles  is  a 
German  professor,  who  has  come  from  some  great  university-town  in  Hanover  or 

Prussia  to  see  with  his  own  eyes  the  wonders  of  the 
Western  world ;  and  sitting  in  the  same  seat  with 
him  is  a  lean,  dark-skinned  Frenchman,  who  perhaps 
fought  against  him  at  Gravelotte  or  Sedan.  So  we 
make  ourselves  acquainted  with  people  of  nearly  every 
country  in  Europe  as  we  are  whirled  along  on  the  ap- 
parently endless  iron  track. 
Occasionally  some  episode 


will  attract  the  attention  of  the  trav- 
elers.     The  engine  enters  a  narrow 
valley  and   startles   a   herd   of  deer 
drinking  on  the  banks  of  a  rivulet.     Frightened  at 
the  apparition  of  the  thundering  iron  horse,  the  timid 
creatures  flee  with  their  utmost  speed.     The  engineer 


Banks  of  the  Platte  River. 


76  OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 

blows  his  whistle  and  opens  the  throttle-valve  farther.  The  deer,  still  further  alarmed, 
leap  still  faster  in  the  race  until  they  reach  the  open  country,  when  they  spring  to 
one  side  beyond  rifle-range  and  gaze  with  dilated  eyes  at  their  fast-disappearing 
enemy.  These  races  between  deer  or  antelope  and  the  Pacific  trains  were  once  quite 
common,  but  the  timid  animals  now  for  the  most  part  avoid  the  vicinity  of  the 
railway-track. 

At  Fort  Fred  Steele,  a  little  less  than  seven  hundred  miles  west  of  Omaha,  the 
passengers,  if  they  are  still  awake  (for  it  is  probably  midnight  when  the  train  arrives), 
may  see  flowing  near  the  banks  of  the  railroad  the  broad  waters  of  the  Platte  River, 
clear,  deep,  and  unsullied,  as  it  is  at  its  source  among  the  perpetual  snows  of  Long's 
Peak  in  the  North  Park  of  Colorado.  Every  military  post  which  we  pass,  even  if  it 
be  a  mere  shed  for  the  troops,  with  a  store-house  of  supplies,  is  governed  with  the 
strictest  discipline.  The  reveille  is  beaten  and  the  guard  mounted  with  the  same  un- 


I'iew  on,  th*  Platte  liicer. 

failing  precision  as  at  Governor's  Island,  New  York,  or  San  Francisco,  and  both  offi- 
cers and  men  are  as  careful  and  neat  in  their  dress  as  a  regiment  marshaled  for  review 
before  the  commander-in-chief. 

About  forty  miles  west  of  Fort  Fred  Steele  is  the  divide,  which  turns  one  part  of 
the  water  of  the  continent  into  the  Atlantic  and  the  other  part  into  the  Pacific.  But 
this  ridge-pole  of  the  North  American  Continent  is  so  unimpressive  in  appearance  and 
in  actual  height — being  less  than  seven  thousand  feet  above  the  sea-level — that  no  one 
would  suspect  the  interesting  fact. 

We  pass  through  scenes  monotonous  and  utterly  lacking  in  anything  to  please  the 
eye  or  stir  the  fancy  till  we  arrive  at  Green  Eiver,  which  is  eight  hundred  and  forty- 
six  miles  from  Omaha.  The  river,  which  receives  its  name  from  the  color  of  the 
strata  of  earth  through  which  it  passes,  rises  in  the  Wyoming  and  Wind  River  Mount- 
ains, and  flows  south  till  it  joins  with  the  Grand  to  make  the  Colorado.  The  scenery 
is  marked  by  very  quaint  and  beautiful  sandstone  cliffs  which  crop  out  close  to  the 
railway.  These  are  called  by  scientific  men  the  Green  River  Shales,  the  sediment 
being  arranged  in  different  layers,  from  the  thickness  of  a  knife-blade  to  several  feet. 


OMAHA    TO    OGDEN. 


77 


Giant's  Butte,  Green  Ricer. 

The  castellated  cliff  and  the  Giant's  Butte,  which   are   shown  in  the  illustrations,  are 
landmarks  that   strike   the  eye  of  every  tourist.      The  broad  and   well-defined  bands 


78 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


Clijfe,  Green  River. 

of  color,  looking  as  though  they  had  been  applied  by  a  painter's  brush  ;  the  countless 
spires  and  turrets  eroded  in  the  front  of  the  main   rock ;   and  the  grotesque  element 


OMAHA    TO   OGDEN.  79 

> 

that  finds  expression  in  a  hundred  inconceivable  and  indescribable  shapes,  force  us  to 
believe  that  we  have  left  earth  behind,  and  have  strayed  into  goblin-land. 

Beautiful  impressions  of  fish  are  seen  on  the  shales,  sometimes  a  dozen  or  more 
within  the  compass  of  a  square  foot.  The  molds  of  insects  and  water-plants  are 
also  found,  and  occasionally  a  greater  wonder  still,  such  as  the  feather  of  a  bird,  can 
be  traced  in  the  heart  of  a  rock  several  hundred  feet  high. 

At  Flaming  Gorge  the  water  is  of  the  purest  emerald,  with  banks  and  sand-bars 
of  glistening  white,  and  it  is  overlooked  by  a  perpendicular  bluff,  banded  with  the 
brightest  red  and  yellow  to  a  height  of  fifteen  hundred  feet  above  the  surrounding 
level.  When  it  is  illumined  by  the  full  sunlight,  Flaming  Gorge  fully  realizes  its 
name  ;  and  it  is  the  entrance  to  the  miraculous  Red  Canon,  which  furrows  the  mount- 
ains to  a  surpassing  depth. 

Another  grand  rock  is  the  Giant's  Club,  a  towering  mass  almost  round,  that  rises 
to  a  great  height,  and  was  at  one  time,  according  to  scientific  men,  on  the  bottom 
of  a  lake.  In  the  layers  of  sandstone  many  fossils  of  insects  and  plants  have  been 
discovered,  and  also  the  remains  of  fishes  belonging  to  fresh  water,  though  now 
extinct. 

Thirteen  miles  from  Green  River,  and  two  hundred  feet  higher  than  that  station, 
is  Bryan,  where  the  railway  touches  Black's  Fork,  a  stream  which  finds  a  way,  from 
its  source  in  the  Uintah  Mountains  to  its  junction  with  the  Green,  through  an  un- 
lovely valley  of  sage-brush  and  greasewood  —  two  shrubs  which,  instead  of  enriching 
the  earth  with  the  brightness  of  vegetation,  overspread  it  with  a  tangle  of  unsightly 
gray  and  ragged  branches.  The  sage-brush  is  peculiar  to  much  Western  scenery.  So 
pallid  and  parched  is  it,  that  its  life-sap  might  have  been  absorbed  in  those  heart- 
burnings of  the  earth  whose  results  are  seen  in  many  a  pile  of  volcanic  rock  ;  its 
small,  pale  leaves  are  never  fresh,  and  its  limbs  are  always  twisted  and  gnarled ;  but, 
despite  these  symptoms  of  scanty  life,  it  holds  to  the  soil  with  extreme  tenacity,  and 
it  crops  out  in  great  abundance  over  miles  and  miles  of  territory.  Among  the  foot- 
hills and  along  the  river-bottoms  there  are  knots  of  pines  and  firs,  and  groves  of 
aspens  and  cotton-woods — not  enough,  however,  to  relieve  the  sage-brush,  which  spreads 
itself  over  the  landscape  to  the  farthest  horizon  like  a  bank  of  mist. 

About  this  time,  while  the  train  is  moving  through  tedious  miles  of  desert,  we  are 
prepared  to  agree  with  Hawthorne,  that  meadows  are  the  pleasantest  objects  in  natural 
scenery  :  "  The  heart  reposes  in  them  with  a  feeling  that  few  things  else  can  give, 
because  almost  all  other  objects  are  abrupt  and  clearly  defined  ;  but  a  meadow  stretches 
out  like  a  small  infinity,  yet  with  a  secure  homeliness  which  we  do  not  find  either  in 
an  expanse  of  water  or  of  air." 

The  apology  usually  offered  for  the  least  attractive  land  in  the  far  West  is,  that, 
no  matter  how  sterile  it  may  be  to  look  at,  it  is  "  rich  in  the  primary  elements  of 
fertility,"  a  fine-sounding  phrase,  which,  though  we  listen  to  it  at  first  with  divided 
feelings  of  amusement  and  doubt,  proves  on  investigation  to  have  some  truth  in  it. 
No  plain  is  so  sandy  and  barren  that  it  is  not  amenable  to  the  irrigating  ditch,  and 


80 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


the  introduction  of  a  little  stream  of  water  is  often  followed  by  an  outbreak  of  what 
seems  to  be  natural  verdure,  wonderfully  bright  and  hardy,  which  shows  how  fruitful 
the  soil  may  become  under  favorable  treatment.  At  Fort  Bridger,  eleven  miles  south 
of  Carter,  the  third  station  westward  from  Bryan,  three  hundred  bushels  of  potatoes 
have  been  raised  from  half  an  acre  of  ground,  and  the  ground  there  is  as  hopeless  to 
all  appearances  as  that  in  view  from  the  railway. 

Beyond  the  yellow  and  gray  folds  of  the  nearer  land,  among  which  strange-looking 
masses  of  rock  occasionally  loom  up,  the  Uintah  Mountains,  extending  eastward  and 


Mountains. 


southeastward  from  Utah,  now  arise,  and  bound  the  prospect  with  a  line  of  deep,  dark 
blue.  They  are  visible  for  hours ;  sometimes  when  the  train  rolls  over  a  high  crest 
they  are  revealed  from  their  purple  bases  to  their  snowy  summits,  and  then,  as  it 


OMAHA    TO   OGDEN.  81 

descends  into  the  hollow,  they  are  hidden  in  all  save  the  highest  tips.  The  peaks, 
or  cones,  dark  as  they  seem  at  this  distance  of  seventy  or  eighty  miles,  are  most 
distinctly  arranged  in  layers,  and  rise  two  thousand  feet  above  the  springs  that  feed 
the  streams  in  the  foot-hills  below.  They  are  vast  piles,  resembling  Egyptian  pyramids 
on  a  gigantic  scale,  without  a  trace  of  soil,  water,  or  vegetation.  Such,  at  least,  the 
peaks  are ;  but  the  lower  slopes  are  covered  with  thick  forests,  which  are  succeeded 
nearer  the  timber-limits  by  pines  that  have  been  dwarfed  down  to  low,  trailing  shrubs, 
and  the  ridges  inclose  some  large  basins  of  exquisitely  clear  water.  One  of  these, 
called  Carter's  Lake,  is  held  in  on  one  side  by  a  round  wall  of  sandstones  and  slate, 
and  on  the  other  side  by  a  dense  growth  of  spruce-trees.  The  hollow  for  the  gather- 
ing of  the  water,  says  a  United  States  geologist,  was  caused  by  an  immense  mass  of 
rock  sliding  down  from  the  ridges  above ;  springs  oozed  out  from  the  sides  of  the 
ridge,  snows  melted,  and  so  the  lake  was  formed.  Carter's  Lake  is  350  yards  long, 
80  yards  wide,  and  10,321  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea ;  and  it  is,  like  many  other 
natural  reservoirs,  embosomed  in  the  valleys  of  these  mountains. 

One  of  the  highest  peaks  in  the  mountains — Gilbert's  Peak — is  named  after  General 
Gilbert,  and  is  plainly  marked  by  layers  of  red-sandstones  and  quartz  inclining  to  the 
southeast.  It  is  uplifted  abruptly  from  a  lake  about  fifty  acres  in  extent,  and  has 
the  remarkable  elevation  of  13,250  feet  above  the  sea-level,  the  lake  itself  being  eleven 
thousand  feet  high.  Another  notable  peak  springs  out  in  isolation  from  the  pyramid 
already  mentioned,  and  has  been  called,  from  its  resemblance  to  a  Gothic  church, 
Haydeu's  Cathedral.  The  foot-hills  are  clothed  with  pines,  varied  by  that  most  beau- 
tiful of  all  Western  trees,  the  quaking  asp,  which,  with  its  silver-gray  bark  and 
tremulous,  oval,  emerald  leaves,  stands  out  in  shining  contrast  to  the  sad  foliage  of 
the  evergreens. 

Near  by  this  region  begin  the  so-called  "  Bad  Lands,"  on  the  old  overland  stage-road 
ten  miles  to  the  south.  The  modern  road  of  iron  rails  touches  this  old  route  from 
time  to  time  in  its  winding  course ;  but  the  glory  of  the  days  when  the  pony  express, 
the  fast  coaches,  and  the  hundreds  of  immigrant  trains  passing  every  day  raised  the 
dust  in  choking  clouds,  has  only  a  reminder  in  the  tottering  telegraph-poles  out  of  use 
and  unstrung,  and  the  deserted  ranches,  which  once  furnished  rest  and  refreshment. 

The  wonderful  Church  Buttes  of  Wyoming  Territory  are  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles 
east  of  Salt  Lake  City,  the  capital  of  Mormondom,  and  are  nearly  seven  thousand  feet 
above  the  sea-level.  They  consist  of  soft  sandstone  and  colored  clay  in  perfectly  level 
layers,  and  one  of  our  eminent  scientific  men,  Professor  Marsh,  has  discovered  in  them 
the  remains  of  huge  creatures  now  extinct,  such  as  turtles  twenty  feet  long,  gigantic 
birds,  etc.,  the  jaws  of  some  of  these  great  animals  of  an  earlier  age  measuring  nearly 
five  feet  in  length.  Eemains  of  the  rhinoceros  have  also  been  discovered.  Rattle- 
snakes are  found  here  in  great  numbers,  and  their  rattling  sounds  are  as  noisy  as  the 
buzzing  of  grasshoppers  in  a  hay-field. 

The  interesting  features  of  Church  Buttes  and  the  Bad  Lands  are  the  bands  of 
color  formed  by  the  successive  layers  containing  animal  remains,  which  in  some  in- 


83  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

stances,  as  at  Green  River,  are  exceedingly  vivid,  and  seem  to  have  been  drawn  by  a 
human  hand.  As  we  stand  upon  one  of  the  summits  it  is  difficult,  indeed,  to  con- 
vince ourselves  that  these  stone  piles  so  beautifully  adorned  are  not  the  result  of  hu- 
man workmanship.  The  elements  striving  with  the  centuries  may  cause  strange  forms, 


but  it  is  incredible  that  senseless  rain-drops  and 
gritty  sand,  without  mind  and  without  a  special 
design,  can  have  carved  the  shapely  theatres  and 
temples  that  appeal  to  our  eyes  with  the  grandeur 
of  an  ancient  Rome  or  an  Athens — hard  to  believe 
that  the  mere  process  of  "  weathering,"  as  the 

geologists  call  it,  can  have  shaped  such  masterpieces  out  of  chaotic  rock.  The  very 
pillars  that  clasp  the  portico  of  that  temple  yonder  and  dwindle  away,  through  their 
hundreds,  into  a  dim  perspective,  are  built  with  exactness,  and  uphold  a  filigree  cor- 
nice whose  dainty  carving  bespeaks  the  chisel  of  a  sculptor.  The  lonely  pillars  and 
obelisks  are  without  flaw ;  the  domes  that  cap  some  of  the  buildings  are  perfect  half- 
spheres  ;  the  flutings  of  the  columns  are  uniform  in  depth  and  width,  and  the  broad 
terraces  of  steps  are  the  same  in  distance  from  each  other.  The  desert's  sand-blast 
and  the  constant  action  of  the  rain-drops  may  have  worn  the  rocks  on  Laramie  Plain 
and  Dale  Creek  into  their  present  uncanny  look,  but  we  can  hardly  believe  the  scien- 
tific talk  and  the  testimony  of  our  sight  as  we  look  down  from  the  distance  upon 
the  strange  architecture  of  the  Bad  Lands.  A  nearer  view,  however,  dissipates  our 
illusion  :  then  we  notice  defects  that  were  not  visible  before,  and  observe  how  spouts 


OMAHA    TO   OGDEN.  83 

and  drops  of  water  have  furrowed  the  pliant  material  of  the  rock,  tunneling  and 
grooving  with  resistless  industry,  and  imparting  the  color  of  the  strata  to  the  sur- 
rounding streamlets.  But  it  is  not  all  illusion ;  the  resemblances  often  prove  to  be 
real,  and  are  marvelous  beyond  the  conception  of  any  one  who  has  not  seen  them. 

We  now  arrive  at  a  station  called  Hilliard,  which  attracts  attention  by  its  curious 
nest  of  low  houses  that  might  be  almost  mistaken  for  Indian  wigwams  or  Chinese 
huts.  These  are  charcoal-furnaces.  Another  thing  which  makes  people  wonder  as  to 
its  possible  use  is  a  high,  narrow  trestle-work  bridge,  supporting  a  huge  trough  in 
the  shape  of  a  V — an  object  familiar  to  people  living  on  the  Pacific  coast,  but  a 
strange  sight  in  more  easterly  regions.  It  is  known  as  a  flume,  and  the  wood  burned 
in  the  kilns  is  floated  through  it  for  a  distance  of  twenty-four  miles  from  the  mount- 
ains. Over  two  million  feet  of  lumber  were  used  in  its  construction,  and  from  its 
head  to  its  mouth  it  falls  two  thousand  feet,  the  stream  rushing  through  it  and 
sweeping  the  logs  on  its  bosom  with  a  rapidity  and  ease  that  make  us  wonder  why 
people  ever  haul  wood  in  cumbrous  wagons.  The  mill  at  the  head,  where  the  pine- 
trees  are  sawed  down  into  the  convenient  shape  in  which  they  arrive  at  Hilliard,  has 
a  capacity  for  sawing  forty  thousand  feet  of  lumber  every  twenty-four  hours,  and  the 
kilns  consume  two  thousand  cords  a  month,  producing  a  hundred  thousand  bushels 
of  charcoal.  When  the  train  crosses  the  Bear  River,  a  few  miles  beyond  this  station, 
the  eye  of  the  traveler  rests  on  a  lovely  valley,  noticeable  on  account  of  its  great 
beauty. 

The  various  industries  which  have  sprung  up  along  the  Union  and  Central  Pacific 
Railways  and  their  branches  in  the  last  ten  years,  mostly,  it  is  true,  connected  with 
the  mining  interest,  are  quite  marvelous,  and  perhaps  excite  one's  sense  of  wonder 
even  more  than  the  evidences  of  enterprise  in  the  more  settled  regions  of  the  coun- 
try. The  contrast  between  the  bleakness  and  savagery  of  the  adjacent  region  and  the 
mills,  workshops,  etc.,  which  spring  so  rapidly  around  many  a  railway  -  station  or 
plant  themselves  so  sturdily  in  some  remote  region  of  the  mineral  -  bearing  hills, 
strikes  the  fancy  with  great  force.  Ten  or  twenty  years  ago  a  desert  of  arid  plains 
or  steep  and  inaccessible  mountains — now  paying  tribute  to  the  luxuries  and  needs  of 
mankind  by  yielding  freely  to  his  hand ;  then  a  lair  of  wild  animals  and  a  hunting- 
ground  for  the  painted  savage,  now  a  firmly  settled  outpost  of  civilization.  The 
pluck  and  push  of  the  American  people  have  shown  themselves  in  great  works  for  a 
whole  century,  but  at  no  time  are  they  pictured  more  vividly  than  in  the  sights 
which  unroll  like  a  panorama  before  the  traveler  across  the  continent  as  he  is  hurried 
from  ocean  to  ocean  by  the  power  of  steam. 

As  the  tourist  approaches  the  boundary-line  between  Idaho  and  Utah  he  passes 
through  a  country  most  attractive  on  account  of  its  natural  beauty  and  its  game. 
To  sportsman,  naturalist,  and  artist  the  catalogue  of  its  wonders  is  almost  without 
limit.  The  brooks  which  flow  into  the  main  streams  are  full  of  trout,  and  the  for- 
ests are  full  of  deer,  bear,  foxes,  wolves,  grouse,  and  quail,  while  such  game  as  the 
panther,  or  puma,  as  it  is  called  in  the  West,  gives  a  keener  zest  of  danger  to  the 


84 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


adventurous  hunter.  A  lake  of  considerable  size  near  the  station  of  Evanston  sur- 
passes even  the  Yellowstone  in  the  beauty  of  its  rocks ;  and  through  this  pretty  body 
of  water,  nearly  six  thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  the  line  which  divides  Utah  from 
Idaho  passes.  At  the  big  bend  of  the  Bear  Kiver,  which  the  railway  crosses  in  this 
vicinity,  we  find  a  most  interesting  group  of  warm  soda-springs  which  are  likely  in 
the  future  to  be  frequented  as  a  watering-place 
and  sanitarium.  There  are  many  basins  of  ex- 
tinct springs  in  the  vicinity  far  larger  than  any 
now  existing,  and  these  are  called  petrifying 
springs  by  the  settlers,  as  they  contain  large 
masses  of  plants  so  beautifully  coated  with  lime 
that  they  retain  the  form  of  leaf  and  stem  to 
perfection. 

The  last  station    on   the  railway  line  within 


Wyoming  is  Evauston,  a  town  of  consid- 
erable importance,  because  in  its  vicinity 
are  large  and  rich  coal-deposits,  one  mine 
alone  giving  an  annual  yield  of  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  thousand  tons.  At  this  station  we  are  brought  face  to  face  with  the 
problem  of  Chinese  labor.  The  pigtailed  Celestials  work  on  the  railway,  tend  at  the 
bars  and  restaurants,  do  the  cooking  (and,  needless  to  say,  the  washing),  and  alto- 
gether crowd  out  the  labor  of  Ireland  and  Deutschland  ;  but  those  who  employ  this 
labor  seem  to  be  perfectly  well  satisfied,  and  the  hungry  tourists  who  swarm  into  the 


OMAHA    TO   OGDEN. 


85 


Echo  I 


railway  eating-house  certainly  have  no  reason  to  complain  of  their  treatment  on  the 
part  of  these  smiling,  polite,  attentive,  white-aproned  Orientals. 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


Castle  Rock,  Echo  Canon. 


The  grandest  scenery  on  the  Un- 
ion Pacific  road  is  found  in  Utah 
within  a  stretch  of  sixty  miles,  and 
every  passenger  traveling  with  us  is 
on  the  alert  to  enjoy  the  lavish 
feast  of  beauty  and  sublimity  which 
Nature  spreads  before  us. 

But,  before  viewing  the  wonders  of  the  country,  a 
brief  glance  at  the  history  of  the  Territory  will  be  in- 
teresting. It  was  acquired  by  the  United  States  as  a 
result  of  the  Mexican  War,  in  common  with  California, 
New  Mexico,  Arizona,  and  the  larger  part  of  what  is 
now  known  as  the  Pacific  coast.  When  the  Mormons 
were  driven  out  of  Illinois,  in  1846,  they  appropriated 

this  then  utterly  wild  region,  and  named  it  the   State  of  Deseret.      The  name  was 
shortly  afterward  changed  to  Utah,  the  State  of  Nevada  then  being  included  in  it. 


OMAHA    TO   OGDEN. 


Pulpit  Socle,  Echo  Canon. 

Utah    contains  about   fifty-four   million 

acres,  of  which  some  half  a  million  are 

under  cultivation.     The  Mormons,  with 

all  their  abominable  faults,  their  system  of  polygamy, 

their  bigotry,  and  the  crimes  of  murder  and  spoliation 

which    have    stained    their    past,    have    always    been    a 

thrifty  and  hard-working  people,  and  they  have  made 

many  parts  of  the  desert  bloom  like  a  rose  by  their  skill 

in  agriculture  and  the  completeness  with  which  they  have  carried  out  their  system  of 

irrigation.     The  products  are  chiefly  grain  and  fruits,  including  apples,  pears,  peaches, 

plums,  grapes,  and,  in  some  portions  of  the  Territory,  cotton,  figs,  and  pomegranates. 

The  climate  is  variable,  but  hot  days  are  always  followed  by  cool,  refreshing  nights. 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


;  •&•• 


Hanging  Mock,  Echo  Cation. 


The  yield  of  the  precious  metals  is 
also  large,  and,  when  the  mining  in- 
terests of  Utah  are  fully  developed, 
it  will  probably  equal  any  of  the 
Western  States  in  its  production  of 
gold  and  silver. 

The  difficulty  between  the  Mormon  government,  set 
up  by  the  leaders  of  the  church,  and  the  United  States, 
resulted  in  many  terrible  crimes  on  the  part  of  the  Mor- 
mon fanatics.  The  Gentiles,  as  all  outsiders  were  called, 
were  made  the  victims  of  every  species  of  persecution  ; 
and,  as  Utah  was  difficult  of  access  before  the  building 
of  the  Pacific  Railways,  it  was  not  easy  for  the  United 

States  to  protect  the  emigrants  who  went  to  this  Territory  to  settle.     The  massacres, 
either  committed  by  the   Mormons  themselves,  or  by  the  Indians  instigated  by   the 


OMAHA    TO   OGDEN. 


Weber  Canon. 


i 


^r-  ? 


Mormons  ;  the  deeds  com-         ^1 
mitted    by  that    band    of 
miscreants    and    brigands 

organized  by  the  Mormon  chiefs  under  the  name  of  the 
Danites ;  the  robbery  and  plundering  which  went  on 
so  universally ;  and  the  utter  contempt  shown  for  the 
judges  and  other  officials  sent  out  by  the  Government  at 
Washington,  finally  led  to  the  armed  expedition  which, 
under  the  command  of  General  Albert  Sidney  Johnston, 
crossed  the  deserts  and  penetrated  to  the  vicinity  of  Salt 
Lake  City,  the  capital,  in  1852.  The  difficulty  was  at 
last  compromised  without  coming  to  the  final  test  of 

battle,  and  the  Mormons  submitted  to  the  United  States  authority,  though  the  secu- 
lar power  has  always  practically  remained  in  the  leaders  of  their  church. 

Let  us  now  return  to  our  journey  across  this  remarkable  region.      For  four  hours 
after  entering  Utah  there  is  not  a  moment  of   lagging   interest  to  the   traveler   as  he 


90 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


passes  the  wonders  of  Echo, 
Weber,  and  Ogden  Canons. 
All  down  the  southern  side 
of  Echo  Canon  it  is  a  well- 
rounded  range  of  hills,  with 
enough  grass  to  show  some 
soil  and  a  few  bold  masses 
of  rock.  But  on  the  north- 
ern side  there  is  a  sheer 
bluff,  or  escarpment,  from 
five  to  seven  hundred  feet 
in  height,  of  a  reddish 
color,  which  increases  in 
warmth  till  it  fairly  glows 
with  living  heat.  The 
scene  has  every  element 
of  power  to  impress  the 
fancy,  strong  rich  color, 
massive  forms,  and  a  nov- 
el weirdness  of  effect.  The 
descent  into  the  cafion  be- 
gins soon  after  dining  at  Evanston  ;  the  mountain 
air  is  inspiring ;  the  afternoon  light  grows  mellower, 
and  all  the  conditions  are  favorable  to  our  highest 
enjoyment. 

That  most  amusing  of  travelers,  the  Baron  de 
Httbner,  ,has  described  his  impressions  of  this  part 
of  the  overland  journey  as  follows :  "  The  descent  to 
the  Salt  Lake  is  done  without  steam,  merely  by  the 
weight  of  the  carriages,  and,  although  the  brake  is 
put  upon  the  wheels,  you  go  down  at  a  frightful 

pace,  and,  of  course,  the  speed  increases  with  the  weight  of  the  train ;  and,  the  train 
being  composed  of  an  immense  number  of  cars  and  trucks,  I  became  positively  giddy 
before  we  got  to  the  bottom.  Add  to  this  the  curves,  which  are  as  sharp  as  they 
are  numerous,  and  the  fearful  precipices  on  each  side,  and  you  will  understand  why 
most  of  the  travelers  turn  pale. " 

This  picture  is  overdrawn,  and  the  impressions  are  those  of  a  highly  nervous  person  ; 
but  the  real  experience  is  sufficiently  exciting  as  the  train  sweeps  down  and  sways 
from  side  to  side  with  increasing  speed,  now  threatening  to  hurl  itself  against  a  solid 
cliff,  then  curving  off  like  an  obedient  ship  in  answer  to  her  helm. 

Just  eastward  of  the  head  of  the  canon  the  country  is  undulating  and  breezy  ; 
farther  westward  it  becomes  more  broken  ;  the  foot-hills  present  craggy  fronts ;  and 


DeviFa  Slide,  Weber  Canon. 


OMAHA    TO   OGDEN.  91 

detached  masses  of  rock,  curiously  colored  and  carved  by  the  weather,  excite  our 
wonder. 

We  must  observe  quickly  to  appreciate  all  the  varied  beauties  and  curiosities  that 
follow  in  swift  succession.  The  high,  abrupt  wall  on  one  side,  so  smooth  that  it 
might  have  been  cut  by  a  saw,  and  the  glimpes  of  mountains  on  whose  upper  flanks 
the  snow  never  melts,  are  most  impressive  and  interesting,  but  they  are  not  the  only 
things  which  make  a  journey  through  Echo  Caflon  memorable. 

The  great  rocks  often  assume  the  likeness  of  an  artificial  object,  as  at  Green  Eiver 
and  among  the  Bad  Lands ;  it  seems,  as  we  round  some  butte,  shaped  like  a  castle, 
that  we  must  be  in  an  old  country ;  that  feudal  labor,  not  the  patient  carving  of 
rain-drops  and  the  sand  of  the  plains,  must  have  shaped  the  pinnacles  which  taper  with 
such  fineness,  and  the  towers  so  perfectly  round  that  they  closely  resemble  human 
handiwork. 

At  the  head  of  the  caflon  there  is  a  formation  called  Castle  Rock,  which  imitates 
an  old,  dismantled  fortress,  and  near  by  is  another  formation,  called  the  Pulpit,  on 
account  of  its  likeness  to  the  object  of  its  name  and  by  virtue  of  a  tradition  that 
from  it  Brigham  Young  preached  to  the  Mormons  as  he  led  them  into  their  promised 
land.  The  railway  curves  around  Pulpit  Rock,  and  an  outstretched  arm  from  the  car 
might  touch  it.  Next  comes  Sentinel  Rock,  an  obelisk  of  conglomerate  about  two 
hundred  and  fifty  feet  high,  which  shows  the  influence  of  "weathering,"  i.  e.,  the 
action  of  the  elements ;  and  seven  miles  from  Castle  Rock  is  Hanging  Rock,  from 
which  point  of  view  a  much  better  idea  of  the  wild  tumult  of  shapes  into  which  the 
country  is  tossed  can  be  had  than  from  the  bed  of  the  caflon.  The  earth  is  split  by 
a  score  of  cross-ravines,  which  extend  like  blue  veins  from  the  main  artery  and  map 
the  face  of  the  country  with  shadow ;  lonely  columns,  positive  and  brilliant  in  color, 
stand  without  a  visible  connection  with  the  main  rock  from '  which  they  were  origi- 
nally broken  off  ;  odd  groups  of  conglomerate,  much  like  inverted  wine-glasses  in  shape, 
and  plainly  banded  with  several  layers  of  color,  sprout  out  like  so  many  huge  mush- 
rooms hardened  into  stone ;  and,  clasping  all  within  their  basin,  are  the  circling 
mountains  of  the  Wahsatch  and  Uintah  ranges,  silvered  with  perpetual  snow  on  their 
pointed  peaks  and  impenetrably  blue  where  the  pines  are.  These  two  chains  are 
among  the  most  picturesque  of  all  the  Western  mountains.  They  fairly  bristle  with 
peaks  and  side-ridges  shooting  out  like  spurs,  and  they  soar  from  the  plain  at  a 
bound,  as  if  they  would  cleave  the  very  skies. 

The  swift  waters  of  Weber  River  wind  by  the  track  through  a  channel  overhung 
with  bright  shrubs ;  and  the  immigrant  road,  on  which  large  caravans  are  still  found 
traveling,  crosses  and  recrosses  the  iron  pathway,  which,  from  one  of  the  adjoining 
heights,  looks  like  a  thread  of  silver,  while  the  train  appears  to  be  a  mere  child's 
toy  in  contrast  with  the  mighty  rocks  between  which  it  is  rushing.  A  sharp  curve 
around  an  immense  sandstone  butte  on  the  right  hand  of  the  caflon  now  changes  the 
scene.  The  gorge  opens  into  a  wide  valley  completely  surrounded  by  mountains,  in 
which  are  much  cultivated  land  and  thriving  settlements — a  little  garden  of  Eden 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


by  contrast  with   the  desolate  and   gloomy  grandeur  through   which   we   have  been 
passing. 

Emerging   from   the  valley,   between    Echo  and   Weber  Canons,  we  can    now  see 
the  portals  of  the  latter  flanked  on  the  southwest  by  a  mighty  dome-shaped  cliff  of 
brilliant  red,  nearly  one  thousand  feet  high,  which  is  the  first  in  a  chain  of  simi- 
lar  formations   extending 
southward,  and  presenting 
abrupt  fronts  all  the  way 
down.      There   are   small 
alcoves  between  them,  and 
they    jut    out    obliquely, 
like  the  prows  of  a  fleet 
of  iron-clads.      The    idea 
of    this    belt    of    flaming 
red  amid  the  green  sur- 
roundings, and  with   the 
gray  and  white  mountains 


The  Witches'  Rocks,  Weber  Canon. 


above  it,  gives  an  impression  of  startling  contrast, 
which  makes  one  of  the  most  forcible  features  of 
Western  scenery. 

While  the  curious  rock-shapes  of  Echo  Canon  are  still  in  mind,  we  are  inclined 
to  repeat  what  we  have  said  before  of  the  transient  pleasure  which  mere  oddity  in 
nature  affords.  It  is  to  be  granted  that  a  curiosity  will  attract  many,  when  a  thing 
of  beauty  passes  unnoticed  ;  and  people  who  could  gaze  on  one  of  the  purple  peaks 
of  the  Wahsatch  range,  or  on  one  of  the  terrific  cliffs  of  Echo,  without  a  touch  of 
feeling,  go  into  ecstasies  in  watching  a  rock  with  a  likeness  to  something  merely 


OMAHA    TO   OGDEN. 


93 


The  Devil's  Gate,  Weler  Canon. 

strange.      It  is  noticeable  how  often  the  crowd  of  observers  on  the  rear  platform  of 
the  car  in  passing  through  the  canons  let  slip  the  sublime  and  grasp  what  is  merely  odd, 


94  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

just  as,  with  some  audiences  in  the  theatre,  Hamlet's  deep  sorrows  are  immediately 
forgotten  in  the  funny  gossip  of  the  two  grave-diggers.  These  oddities  of  rock  give 
the  utmost  delight  to  the  average  spectator,  and  it  would  be  a  pity  to  overlook  them, 
as  they  are  especially  characteristic  of  the  West ;  but  they  soon  weary  the  better1  taste, 
and  it  is  a  still  greater  pity  when  they  are  allowed  to  absorb  the  whole  attention. 

It  is  not  possible,  though,  for  the  most  careless  mind  to  pass  unmoved  the  cliffs 
of  Weber  Canon,  through  which  we  are  now  going.  They  are  absolutely  perpendic- 
ular walls  of  rock  ;  the  prevailing  color  is  a  bronze  green,  but  green  is  not  the  sole 
color.  Masses  of  bright-red  conglomerate,  pale-gray  limestones,  bluish  granites,  and 
vari-colored  stratifications,  also  crop  out  in  towers,  crags,  and  caverns.  We  plunge 
into  tunnels  cut  through  the  solid  mountains  ;  the  high  peaks  that  have  hitherto 
been  distant  descend  into  the  canon  at  an  angle  of  eighty  degrees,  and  loom  directly 
above  us  ;  lateral  ribs  of  rock  project  from  the  slopes,  and  some  of  them  are  of  fan- 
like  formation.  The  Weber  River  flashes  through  the  ravine,  and  breaks  into  a 
wrathy  white  as  it  leaps  from  ledge  to  ledge  ;  even  above  there  is  no  calm,  and  the' 
clouds  are  torn  into  shreds,  and  contribute  to  the  general  wildness  of  the  scene  as 
they  drift  to  the  east. 

In  all  probability,  says  a  well-known  authority,  the  vast  area  usually  described  as 
the  Great  American  Desert,  between  the  Wahsatch  Mountains  on  the  east  and  the 
Sierra  Nevada  on  the  west,  was  one  great  lake,  in  which  the  mountains  rose  as 
islands,  and  the  lakes,  large  and  small,  which  are  scattered  over  the  basin  at  the 
present  time,  are  only  remnants  of  the  former  inland  sea.  The  deposits  which  cover 
the  lowlands  are  mostly  lime  and  sand  beds,  and  these  are  often  filled  with  fresh- 
water and  land  shells,  indicating  a  very  modern  origin. 

The  range  extends,  with  intervals  in  its  continuity,  far  northward  of  the  railway, 
into  Montana  and  Idaho,  and  many  of  the  peaks  are  within  the  region  of  perpetual 
snow.  There  are  hundreds  of  cafions  with  vertical  walls  from  one  thousand  to  two 
thousand  feet  in  height. 

The  Thousand-Mile  Tree,  on  the  left  of  the  railway-track,  marks  the  thousandth 
mile  west  of  Omaha  ;  and  near  this  is  a  notable  formation  called  the  DEVIL'S  SLIDE, 
two  parallel  ledges  of  granite,  fourteen  feet  apart,  projecting  from  the  mountain-side 
to  a  height  of  fifty  feet.  We  soon  emerge  from  the  canon  into  another  fertile  valley, 
in  which  the  river  widens  and  courses  through  several  channels.  The  vegetation  is 
abundant  here,  and  there  is  some  breathing-space  between  the  mountains.  Children 
offer  apples,  peaches,  and  pears  for  sale  in  the  stations  ;  and  as  we  pass  through,  on 
a  warm,  hazy  afternoon  of  August,  the  orchards  are  bowed  down  with  fruit.  This 
pastoral  element  in  the  midst  of  such  stern  sterility  and  wildness  as  the  mountains 
suggest  is  a  grateful  relief — a  relief,  because  the  giant  cliffs  and  buttes  of  the  canon 
are  oppressive  ;  and  a  surprise,  because  the  shallowness  of  the  soil  is  very  apparent. 

The  length  of  the  valley  is  quickly  traversed,  and  in  a  few  moments  we  pass 
through  the  Devil's  Gate  into  Ogden  Canon,  another  giant  chasm  held  in  by  rocks 
from  a  thousand  to  twenty-five  hundred  feet  in  height.  Ogden  Canon  emerges  in 


OMAHA    TO   OGDEN.  95 

Salt  Lake  Valley,  and  before  long  we  change  cars  at  Ogden,  where  the  Union  Pacific 
road  ends  and  the  Central  Pacific  begins,  completing  the  first  part  of  our  journey. 
At  this  place  also  two  other  railways  have  their  starting-point,  the  Utah  Central  and 
the  Utah  Northern. 


Ogden  Cation. 


SCENERY   OF   THE    PACIFIC    RAILWAYS. 

PART      II. 

OGDEN   TO    SAN   FRANCISCO. 

Ogden  and  its  strange  types  of  life — Salt  Lake  City— The  Great  Salt  Lake— The  junction  of  the  Central  and  the 
Union  Pacific  roads — Nevada,  the  desert  State — The  Sierra  Nevadas — The  valley  of  the  Truckee  River — Lake 
Tahoe — Virginia  City — Donner  Lake  and  its  tradition — The  western  slope  of  the  Sierras — The  great  snow-sheds 
— Blue  Canon  and  Giant  Gap — Water  as  a  means  of  mining — Cape  Horn — The  Sacramento  Valley — Sacramento 
and  San  Francisco. 

OGDEN,  next  to  Salt  Lake  City,  is  the  most  important  town  in  the  Territory  of 
Utah,  its  population  being  about  six  thousand.      It  is  built  on  a  high  plateau,  with 


Ogden,  and  the  Wahtatch  Bange. 

lofty  mountains  in  the  distance,  and  is  a  very  good  attempt  at  a  city.      The  scene 
at  the  station  on  the  arrival  of  the  train  is  full  of  life  and  variety.      Passengers  flit 


OGDEN  TO  SAN  FRANCISCO. 


97 


hither  and  thither,  prom- 
enading or  looking  after 
the  transfer  of  their  tick- 
ets and  baggage ;  news- 
boys shriek  out  the  New 
York  papers ;  eager  bro- 
kers, their  hands  full  of 
coin,  ply  travelers  with 
offers  of  exchange  for  cur- 
rency; dining-room  gongs 
are  booming  furiously, 
and  hotel  agents  are  soli- 
citing custom.  The  mov- 
ing throng  is  curious  in 
its  varieties  of  dress,  man- 
ner, and  language.  The 
Ute  Indian,  wrapped  up 
in  gaudy  blanket,  and 
smeared  with  vermilion, 
rubs  elbows  with  the 
sleek  Chinaman  in  blue 
blouse,  cloth  shoes,  and 
bamboo  hat ;  the  negro 
and  the  Spaniard,  the 
German  and  the  Irish- 
man, the  gorgeously  ar- 
rayed "  swell "  of  Vienna 
and  Paris,  and  the  Scan- 
dinavian peasant,  mingle 
in  the  most  amusing  con- 
trasts. But  what  gives 
the  scene  most  interest 
is  not  the  crowd  itself, 
nor  the  variety  of  cos- 
tume, but  the  situation 
— the  grand,  vivid  hills 
on  every  side  tinged  with 
fiery  light,  the  broken 
outlines  of  the  peaks  that 

are  glowing  with  passionate  heat,  the  mountain-fields  of  perpetual  snow,  the  green  low- 
lands, and,  above  all,  the  shining  sky  which  is  changing  color  every  moment.  There 
are  few  lovelier  sights  than  Ogden  in  a  summer's  sunset ;  and,  if,  as  the  traveler  pro- 


98  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

ceeds  on  his  westward  journey,  the  moon  should  be  near  its  full  and  should  follow 
the  splendors  of  the  dying  day  with  its  mild  light,  silvering  the  wide  expanse  of  the 
lake  and  turning  to  a  whiter  white  the  low  rim  of  alkaline  shore,  it  will  seem  to  him 
that  he  is  leaving  paradise  behind. 

Let  us  delay  our  onward  journey  to  San  Francisco  long  enough  to  take  a  brief  run 
to  the  capital  of  the  Latter-Day  Saints,  Salt  Lake  City.  The  country  between  Ogden 
and  the  Mormon  metropolis  is  quite  thickly  settled,  and  the  train  stops  at  four  Mor- 
mon villages,  with  nothing  to  mark  them  specially  except  the  co-operative  stores  with 
an  open  eye  and  the  legend  "  Holiness  to  the  Lord  "  painted  over  the  door-ways. 

The  station  at  Salt  Lake  City  is  surrounded  by  grass,  and  the  little  cottages  near 
the  track,  such  as  in  other  cities  are  mean  and  filthy,  are  pleasantly  rustic  with  flow- 
ering vine  and  trellis. 

The  first  street  into  which  we  emerge  is  an  example  of  all  the  streets  that  divide 
the  city  into  handsome  squares  or  blocks  ;  the  road-way  is  firm  and  smooth  ;  the  side- 
walks would  be  no  discredit  to  London  or  Paris.  Clear  streams  of  water  trickle 
along  the  curb  at  both  sides,  and  feed  the  lines  of  shade-trees,  not  yet  fully  grown, 
that  are  planted  with  the  same  exactness  of  interval  as  cogs  are  set  upon  a  wheel. 
Nothing  is  slovenly ;  everything  shows  care  and  attention  ;  the  unpleasant  loafer, 
whom  we  have  come  to  look  upon  as  a  large  part  of  the  far  Western  railway  town,  is 
invisible  ;  the  horse-car  and  omnibus  conductors  are  very  civil  ;  the  crowd  at  the 
station  and  in  the  streets  is  a  most  respectable  crowd. 

The  bigness  of  spaces  is  astonishing.  All  the  streets  are  one  hundred  and  thirty- 
two  feet  wide  between  the  fence-lines,  including  twenty  feet  of  sidewalk  on  each  side. 
The  blocks  contain  about  eight  lots  apiece,  each  lot  measuring  about  one  acre  and  a 
quarter,  and  the  builders  have  been  required  to  set  their  houses  at  least  twenty  feet 
back  from  the  front  fences  of  their  lots.  Fifteen  or  twenty  years  ago  there  was 
scarcely  a  structure  of  superior  material  to  the  convenient  adobe  or  baked  mud  ;  but 
now,  when  the  harvest  of  the  severe  pioneer  toil  is  being  reaped,  wood,  brick,  iron, 
granite,  and  stucco,  are  brought  into  use.  The  population  of  the  city  is  about 
twenty-one  thousand  ;  six  newspapers  are  published  ;  the  theatre  is  a  popular  insti- 
tution, at  which  many  stars  and  traveling  companies  perform  ;  and  the  Gentile  is 
allowed  a  freedom  of  speech  which  would  once  have  cost  him  his  life.  Every  house- 
holder cultivates  land  surrounding  his  dwelling,  and  altogether  the  appearance  is  a 
quaint  mingling  of  country  and  city  very  pleasant  to  the  eye  and  fancy.  An  eloquent 
writer,  Fitzhugh  Ludlow,  speaks  quaintly  of  this  feature  of  the  Mormon  capital : 

"  In  some  instances,  the  utilitarian  element,  being  in  the  ascendant,  has  boldly 
brought  the  vegetable-garden  forward  into  public  notice.  I  like  the  sturdy  self- 
assertion  of  those  potatoes,  cabbages,  and  string-beans.  Why  should  they,  the  pre- 
servers and  sustainers  of  mankind,  slink  away  into  back-lots,  behind  a  high  board 
fence,  and  leave  the  land-owner  to  be  represented  by  a  set  of  lazy  bouncing-bets  and 
stiff-mannered  hollyhocks,  who  do  nothing  but  prink  and  dawdle  for  a  living — the 
deportment  Turveydrops  of  a  vegetable  kingdom  ?  Other  front-yards  are  variegated 


OGDEN  TO  SAN  FRANCISCO. 


99 


in  pretty  patterns  with  naturalized  flowers — children  of  seed  brought  from  many 
countries  :  here  a  Riga  pink,  which  reminds  the  Scandinavian  wife  of  that  far-off 
door-way,  around  which  its  ancestors  blossomed  in  the  short  northern  summer  of  the 
Baltic  ;  here  a  haw  or  a  holly,  which  speaks  to  the  English  wife  of  Yule  and  spring- 
time, when  she  got  kissed  under  one,  or  followed  her  father  clipping  hedge-rows  of 
the  other ;  shamrock  and  daisies  for  the  Irish  wife  ;  fennel — the  real  old  '  meetin'- 
seed '  fennel — for  the  American  wife  ;  and  in  some  places  where  tact,  ingenuity, 
originality,  and  love  of  science,  have  blessed  a  house,  curious  little  Alpine  flowers  of 
flaming  scarlet  or  royal  purple,  brought  down  from  the  green  dells  and  lofty  terraces 
of  the  snow-range,  to  be  adopted  and  improved  by  culture.  Of  all,  I  liked  best  a 
third  class  of  front-courts,  given  up  to  moist,  home-looking  turf-grass,  of  that  deep 


Black  fioi-k,  Great  Kail  Luke. 


green  which  rests  the  soul  as  it  cools  the  eyes  —  grass,  that  febrifuge  of  the  imagina- 
tion which,  coming  after  the  woolly  gramma  and  the  measureless  stretches  of  ashen- 
gray  sage-brush,  makes  the  traveler  go  to  sleep  singing." 

In  summer  the  atmosphere  would  be  sickly  with  the  combined  odors,  were  it  not 
for  the  stirring  winds  that  are  constantly  blowing  from  the  mountains  ;  and  many  of 
the  houses  in  the  business-quarter  of  the  city  are  covered  by  sweet-briers  and  vines, 
which  give  them  a  countrified  air  in  forcible  contrast  to  the  iron-and-brick  realities 
of  the  mercantile  stores  adjacent  to  them. 

While  at  Salt  Lake  City,  we  must  not  forget  to  take  a  train  on  the  narrow-gauge 
road  which  will  take  us  to  the  Great  Salt  Lake.  The  first  glimpse  of  this  is  pleasing. 
The  waves  are  short  and  crisp,  the  air  refreshing  with  the  smell  of  brine.  We  expect 


100  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

to  see  a  sullen  waste,  stagnating  along  low,  reedy  shores,  "black  as  Acheron,  gloomy 
as  the  sepulchre  of  Sodom."  But,  as  we  arrive  on  the  borders  in  the  fullness  of  a 
fine  August  morning,  we  discover  something  far  different  in  character. 

"  The  islands,  indeed,  are  mountainous  and  barren,  but  they  are  beautified  by 
rainbow  hues.  Nothing  in  Nature,"  says  Ludlow,  whom  we  again  quote,  "is  lovelier, 
more  incapable  of  rendition  by  mere  words  than  the  rose-pink  hue  of  the  mountains, 
unmodified  by  any  such  filtering  of  the  reflected  light  through  lenses  of  forest  verdure 
as  tones  down  and  cools  to  a  neutral  tint  the  color  of  all  our  Eastern  mountains,  even 
though  their  local  tint  be  the  reddest  sandstone.  The  Oquirrh  *  has  hues  which  in 
full  daylight  are  as  positively  ruby,  coral,  garnet,  and  carnelian,  as  the  stones  which 
go  by  these  names.  No  amount  of  positive  color  which  an  artist  may  put  into  his 
brush  can  ever  do  justice  to  the  reality  of  these  mountains." 

There  is  very  little  verdure  on  the  shore,  the  beach  and  the  flats  behind  it  are 
crusted  with  white  alkali,  and  the  charm  of  the  scene  comes  from  the  brilliant  tints 
lent  by  the  air  and  sunlight  to  sterile  rocks  and  soil.  The  circumference  of  the  lake 
is  two  hundred  and  ninety-one  miles,  and  it  contains  six  islands,  the  largest  one, 
Church  Island,  having  on  it  a  mountain-peak  three  thousand  feet  above  the  lake-level. 
The  water  of  Salt  Lake  is  almost  as  heavy  as  that  of  the  Dead  Sea  of  Palestine.  A 
bath  in  the  lake  is  said  to  be  one  of  the  most  delicious  and  bracing  of  experiences. 
The  swimmer  is  almost  forced  out  of  the  water  by  its  buoyancy,  and  he  glides  over  the 
water  instead  of  through  it.  When  he  emerges  his  skin  tingles  as  if  he  had  been 
soundly  switched  with  birch-twigs,  owing  to  the  peculiar  effect  of  the  alkaline  salts 
with  which  the  lake-water  is  so  fully  charged.  But  the  after-effect  is  most  exhilarat- 
ing, like  that  of  an  ocean-bath  much  intensified. 

Returning  again  to  Salt  Lake  City,  and  thence  to  Ogden,  •  let  us  resume  our  long 
journey  toward  the  setting  sun.  The  third  station  beyond  Ogden  is  Corinne,  a 
Gentile  town  of  considerable  importance,  being  the  third  largest  place  in  the  Territory. 
This  place  may  be  regarded  as  a  prophecy  of  the  time  when  polygamy  and  Mormon- 
dom  will  have  become  things  of  the  past.  The  early  attempts  of  the  Gentiles  to 
settle  in  Utah  were  opposed  by  the  Mormons  not  only  by  craft,  but  by  the  most 
murderous 'violence,  and  the  price  paid  by  a  Gentile  for  the  privilege  of  plain  speak- 
ing was  a  pistol-shot  or  a  bowie-knife  stab  dealt  in  the  dark,  or  an  overwhelming 
attack  by  a  band  of  assassins.  Even  now  a  Gentile  shopkeeper  in  a  Mormon  town 
is  annoyed  and  opposed  in  every  possible  way.  But  in  spite  of  their  hate  the  Mor- 
mons dare  not  now  resort  to  the  means  which  found  such  a  terrible  agency  in  Porter 
Rockwell  and  his  band  of  Danites,  or  "Avenging  Angels."  The  most  that  the  Mor- 
mon bigots  can  do  now  is  to  revile  and  curse  Corinne  and  its  inhabitants ;  but  it 
thrives  very  well  in  spite  of  this  wordy  hostility.  Near  Corinne  is  seen  Bear  River, 
and  a  few  miles  beyond  it,  at  a  station  called  Promontory,  the  Union  Pacific  Railway 
coming  from  the  east  met  the  Central  Pacific  coming  from  the  west  on  May  10, 
1869,  thus  completing  the  long  iron  bands  which  tied  the  two  oceans  together.  The 

*  The  name  of  the  mountain-spur  which  borders  and  almost  cuts  the  Great  Salt  Lake  in  two. 


OGDEN  TO  SAN  FRANCISCO. 


101 


Bear  Biver,  Utah. 

last  tie  was  made  of  California  laurel,  trimmed  with  silver,  and  the   last  four  spikes 
were  of  solid  silver  and  gold. 


102 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


For  more  than  one  hundred  and  thirty  miles  we  whirl  by  station  after  station, 
without  seeing  much  of  special  interest,  till  we  reach  the  boundary-line  which  sepa- 
rates Utah  from  Nevada.  The  latter  is,  indeed,  true  to  its  name,  the  "Desert  State," 
and  the  dreariest  day  of  the  seven  occupied  in  the  overland  journey  is  spent  in  cross- 


Great  Salt  Lake,  from  Promontory  Ridge. 

ing  it.  Scientific  men  tell  us  that  the  Great  Salt  Lake  is  the  last  remaining  pool  of 
a  great  sea  which  spread  from  the  Wahsatch  Mountains  on  the  east  to  the  Sierra 
Nevadas  on  the  west.  The  drying-up  of  that  sea  has  left  a  wilderness  than  which 
Sahara  is  not  more  desolate,  nor  a  burned-out  furnace  more  parched  and  dry.  Out 
of  a  vast  yellow  plain  rise  a  few  broken,  melancholy  ranges  of  mountains,  looking 


Indian  Camp  in  the  Great  American  Desert. 

woe-begone,  as  if  they  were  ashamed  of  being  found  in  such  a  country.  They  are 
beautiful  only  as  they  recede  in  the  distance,  and  catch  color  from  the  air  and  sun- 
shine. The  earth  is  alkaline,  and  is  whirled  .up  by  the  least  wind  in  blinding  clouds 
of  dust,  and  the  only  vegetation  is  that  of  the  gray  and  ugly  sage-brush.  It  is  as  if 


OGDEN  TO  SAN  FRANCISCO.  103 

a  great  fire  had  swept  across  and  left  it  red  and  crisp,  smoking  with  ashes  and 
cinders. 

Occasionally  the  train  stops  at  an  important  mining  town  such  as  Elko,  but  cer- 
tainly the  tourist  finds  little  to  interest  him  at  a  passing  glance,  however  important 
the  industry  represented  by  the  place  ;  and  we  are  inclined  to  say,  with  the  poet 
Dante,  when,  in  his  vision  of  the  realms  of  despair,  his  guide  took  him  through  one 
most  woful  place,  "Let  us  look  and  pass  on  with  a  shudder." 

In  the  midst  of  this  desert  is  Humboldt  Wells,  where  there  are  thirty  springs  in 
a  low  basin  half  a  mile  west  of  the  station.  Some  of  the  springs  have  been  "sounded 
seventeen  hundred  feet  without  touching  bottom  ;  and  it  is  supposed  that  the  series 
form  the  outlets  of  a  subterranean  lake.  This  oasis  in  the  desert,  with  its  pure 
water  and  excellent  grass,  was  a  source  of  great  relief  in  the  old  days  of  overland 
travel.  Humboldt  Wells  has  a  background,  the  Ruby  Mountains,  whose  purple  peaks 


Humboldt  Wells  and  Ruby  Mountains. 

stretch  away  in  the  distance.  Beyond  this  the  sterile  monotony  is  resumed  till  we 
come  to  the  magnificent  cliffs  known  as  the  Humboldt  Palisades,  through  which  the 
train  passes  along  the  banks  of  a  deep  stream,  which  flows  down  from  the  mountains. 
A  pleasant  exception,  however,  greets  the  eye  at  Humboldt.  The  desert  extends 
from  Humboldt  in  every  direction — a  pale,  lifeless  waste,  that  makes  one  understand 
the  meaning  of  the  word  desolation  ;  mountains  break  the  level,  and  from  the  foot  to 
the  crest  they  are  devoid  of  vegetation  and  other  color  than  a  dull  gray  ;  the  earth  is 
loose  and  sandy  ;  nothing  could  surpass  the  landscape  in  its  look  of  misery  and  bar- 
renness ;  but  here  at  Humboldt,  a  little  intelligence,  expenditure,  and  taste,  have 
compelled  the  soil  to  yield  flowers,  grass,  fruit,  and  shrubbery.  Perhaps  the  grass  is 
not  greener  at  Humboldt  than  at  any  other  place  in  the  world  ;  contrast  may  be  the 
force  that  makes  it  seem  so  to  the  dust-covered  railway-traveler  ;  but  we  find  it  most 
abundant  and  grateful.  A  pretty  fountain,  in  the  pool  of  which  gold-fishes  disport, 
trickles  and  bubbles  in  front  of  the  station  hotel ;  on  the  east  side  there  are  locusts 


104 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


and  poplars  ;  on  the  north  vegetables  grow,  and  an  orchard  bears  good-looking  and 
well-flavored  apples.  No  wonder  that,  with  our  eyes  smarting  with  the  dust,  bleak- 
ness, and  barrenness  of  the  Ne- 
vada desert,  we  fancy  this  to  be 
a  little  paradise,  and  bear  away 
a  pleasant  memory  of  it. 

The  contrast  could  scarcely 
be  sharper  than  it  is  between 
the  country  in  which  we  go  to 
sleep  on  the  fifth  night  of  the 
overland  journey  and  that  in 
which  we  awake  on  the  sixth 
morning.  The  scorched,  brown, 
bleak  mountains,  and  the  flat 


, 


Devil's  J*al,  Humboldt  Pblisades. 


OGDEN  TO  SAN  FRANCISCO.  105 

plains  of  the  Humboldt  Kiver,  are  replaced  in  the  view  from  the  car-window  by  the 
pine-clad  Sierras ;  the  misty  blue  of  deep  caflons ;  the  content  of  pasture-land ;  the 
cold,  brilliant  surface  of  Alpine  _  lakes  ;  and  the  rosy  and  white  tips  of  sharply  out- 
lined peaks.  At  sunset  we  were  in  a  region  silent  and  dreary  beyond  words,  upon 
which  the  intrusion  of  a  railway  seemed  without  excuse,  so  far-reaching  and  unbroken 
was  the  barrenness.  The  sunset  cast  only  a  slight  warmth  on  the  blighted  soil,  and  a 
small  patch  of  reluctant  green  marked  the  pool  in  which  a  wide  river  disappeared. 
We  have  traveled  steadily  on  through  the  night,  stopping  at  a  few  stations,  which 
hold  on  to  existence  by  a  thread  ;  and  passengers,  awaking  while  the  train  has  been 
still,  have  been  startled  by  the  complete  stillness  of  these  outposts.  The  drought  and 
desert  have  spread  as  far  west  as  the  eastern  slope  of  the  Sierras ;  we  have  cut  through 
the  mountainous  barrier  by  the  caflon  of  the  Truckee  Eiver,  and  have  crossed  the 
line  which  separates  Nevada  from  California. 

When  the  curtain  of  night  is  lifted,  we  are  spinning  around  huddled  foot-hills  at 
an  exhilarating  height ;  the  earth  is  densely  green,  the  sky  intensely  blue,  and  the 
atmosphere  full  of  vital  snap.  We  are  in  the  very  heart  of  the  Sierras,  upon  which 
the  snow  falls  to  a  depth  of  thirty  feet,  and  in  which  the  immigrants  of  old  met  the 
last  obstacle  before  reaching  the  golden  lowlands  of  California. 

Comparisons  are  suggested  between  the  Sierras  of  Nevada  and  the  Rocky  Mount- 
ains, the  latter  being  much  superior  in  height,  and  rougher  in  form,  while  the 
former  are  more  imposing  in  the  view  from  the  passing  train  ;  the  railway  threading 
them  by  more  difficult  passes  than  those  near  Sherman,  by  which  the  eastern  range  is 
crossed.  Another  point  of  contrast  is  in  the  vegetation.  A  scattering  of  stubby 
cedars  and  dwarf-pines,  exhausted  from  the  effort  to  sustain  themselves,  are  the  limit 
of  greenness  in  that  section  of  the  Eocky  Mountains  penetrated  by  the  railway ;  but 
in  the  Sierras  the  pines  are  many  in  number  and  huge  in  growth,  streaking  the  steep- 
est mountain-sides  with  their  straight,  inflexible  shafts,  and  toning  the  landscape 
with  their  somber  dark-green.  Eighty,  one  hundred,  and  one  hundred  and  twenty 
feet  are  not  uncommon  heights  for  those  forest  stoics,  which  seem  to  grow  for  the 
love  of  the  mountains,  independent  of  soil.  Again,  while  the  peaks  are  not  so  high, 
the  track  approaches  them  nearer  than  it  does  those  of  the  Eocky  Mountains,  and 
the  traveler  may  find  himself  among  their  snows  when  the  lowlands  are  hot  in  August. 

"For  four  hundred  miles,"  says  Clarence  King,  who  has  made  extensive  surveys 
of  the  region,  "  the  Sierras  are  a  definite  ridge,  broad  and  high,  and  having  the  form 
of  a  sea-wave.  Buttresses  of  somber-hued  rock,  jutting  at  intervals  from  a  steep  wall, 
form  the  abrupt  eastern  slope  ;  irregular  forests,  in  scattered  growth,  huddle  together 
near  the  snow.  The  lower  declivities  are  barren  spurs,  sinking  into  the  sterile  flats  of 
the  Great  Basin.  Long  ridges  of  comparatively  gentle  outline  characterize  the  west- 
ern side  ;  but  this  sloping  table  is  scored  from  base  to  summit  by  a  system  of  parallel 
transverse  caflons,  distant  from  one  another  often  less  than  twenty-five  miles.  They 
are  ordinarily  two  or  three  thousand  feet  deep  —  falling  at  times  in  sheer,  smooth- 
fronted  cliffs  ;  again  in  sweeping  curves,  like  the  hull  of  a  ship  ;  again  in  rugged, 


106 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


V-shaped  gorges,  or  with  irregular,  hilly  flanks — opening,  at  last,  through  gate-ways 
of  low,  rounded  foot-hills,  out  upon  the  horizontal  plain  of  the  San  Joaquin  and 
Sacramento.'' 

We  are  now  in  the  valley  of  the  Truckee  River,  and  approaching  the  end  of  the 


Lake  Tahoe. 


long  journey  over  the  continent.  Less  than  three  hundred  miles  intervene  between 
Reno,  where  tourists  may  diverge  to  have  a  look  at  Virginia  City,  one  of  the  most 
interesting  of  Western  mining  cities,  or  at  Lake  Tahoe,  and  the  city  of  the  Golden 
Horn,  which  is  our  goal.  It  will  not  do  for  us  to  miss  Lake  Tahoe,  which,  in  some 


OGDEN  TO  SAN  FRANCISCO.  107 

respects,  is  one  of  the  great  wonders  of  the  continent.  A  brief  ride  of  thirty  miles 
on  the  Virginia  and  Truckee  Eailway  to  Carson,  and  thence  by  stage  to  the  lake,  the 
highest  navigable  body  of  water  in  the  world  except  Lake  Titicaca,  in  the  Bolivian 
Andes,  gives  to  the  delighted  eye  a  vision  of  great  beauty. 

After  the  stage  has  been  toiling  up-hill  for  two  or  three  hours  over  a  dusty  road 
partly  strung  across  a  precipice,  upon  which  grow  a  swarm  of  pines,  firs,  oaks,  wil- 
lows, and  such  brilliantly  contrasted  shrubs  as  the  manzanita,  with  its  bright  crimson 
berries  and  brick-colored  stalks,  and  the  pale  white  thorn,  that,  by  the  side  of  each 
other,  remind  one  of  a  bouncing  country  girl  and  a  withered  old  man  ;  after  a  tire- 
some journey,  each  moment  of  which  has  widened  the  outlook  and  brought  a  more 
biting  wind,  with  its  strong  smell  of  resin,  against  the  face — we  attain  the  top  of 
the  divide  and  behold  two  extensive  and  very  different  pictures. 

With  our  gaze  turned  to  the  east,  we  see  the  smoky-red  desert,  with  spiral  columns 
of  dust  rising  out  of  it — -a  relief-map  washed  with  one  color  of  lifeless  brown  ;  the 
surface  of  the  earth  is  crumpled  with  mountains  to  the  extreme  horizon,  and  the 
mountains  have  no  other  beauty,  no  other  variation  to  their  prevailing  tint,  than  an 
occasional  patch  of  snow.  Now  let  us  face  the  westward.  Again  there  are  mountains, 
a  sharply  outlined  chain  drawn  from  the  farthest  north  to  the  farthest  south.  But 
these  are  of  imposing  height  and  varied  coloring — blue,  purple,  olive,  and  gray.  The 
flat,  wide  valley  of  Clear  Creek  is  interposed,  and  beyond  this  Lake  Tahoe  is  dis- 
covered— cold,  lucid,  quivering  with  light,  and  encircled  by  an  edge  of  snow-tipped 
peaks.  No  view  of  the  Sierras  from  the  railway  is  so  fair  and  impressive  as  this, 
which  is  one  of  the  grandest  in  all  the  far  West. 

A  rapid  descent  through  a  sunny  cafion,  thickly  studded  with  pines  and  firs, 
brings  us  to  Glenbrook,  on  the  shore  of  the  lake,  and  thence  the  water  may  be  cir- 
cumnavigated by  means  of  a  little  steamboat,  which  makes  daily  trips  between  May 
and  October.  Tahoe  is  about  twenty-two  miles  long  and  ten  miles  wide.  One  fourth 
of  it  is  in  Nevada,  and  three  fourths  in  California.  The  circumference  is  about 
seventy  miles,  allowing  for  the  winding  of  the  shore.  The  water  has  been  sounded 
to  a  depth  of  over  sixteen  hundred  feet,  and  is  marvelously  clear.  Near  the  shore  it 
is  a  transparent  emerald,  flecked  with  the  white  of  rounded  granite  bowlders  imbedded 
in  yellow  sand,  and  in  deeper  places  it  is  a  blue — not  such  an  indigo-blue  as  the 
Atlantic,  but  an  unusual  shade  resembling  the  turquoise,  its  motion  being  as  heavy  as 
that  of  oil,  and  the  low  waves  falling  from  the  prow  of  a  boat  like  folds  of  silk. 
There  is  a  gloomy  theory  that  the  human  body  sinking  in  this  serene  depth  is  in- 
gulfed forever,  and  it  is  a  fact  that  the  bodies  of  the  drowned  have  never  yet  been 
found.  Beautifully  clear  as  the  water  actually  is  in  the  shallows — the  boats  floating 
upon  it  seeming  to  be  suspended  in  the  air  as  we  look  down  upon  them  from  the 
landings,  and  nothing  save  a  thin  sheet  of  glass  seeming  to  exist  between  the  eye 
and  the  bottom — it  is  apparently  dense  in  the  greater  depths,  a  fancy  which  is  only 
dispelled  by  the  gleaming  spots  of  a  stray  trout  sporting  at  a  depth  of  thirty  or  more 
feet.  The  lake  is  over  six  thousand  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea,  and  at  times  is 


108  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

so  fiercely  ruffled  by  the  winds  from  the  mountains  that  navigation  has  to  be  abruptly 
closed. 

It  is  also  worth  while  for  us,  on  returning  from  Lake  Tahoe,  to  take  a  brief  trip 
to  Virginia  City,  which  by  rail  is  fifty-two  miles  from  Eeno,  though  a  bee-rime  is 
only  sixteen  miles.  So  environed  is  Virginia  City  by  massive  mountains  that  the 
curves  of  the  track  necessary  to  compass  a  distance  of  only  sixteen  miles  as  the  bee 
flies  describe  a  circle  of  three  hundred  and  sixty  degrees  seven  times  repeated,  the 
cost  of  erection  having  been  two  million  dollars.  Virginia  City  has  nearly  half 
the  population  of  the  State,  and  is  a  place  wonderful  for  its  energy,  its  wickedness, 
its  wealth,  and  brilliant  show.  Splendid  dens  of  vice  rise  side  by  side  with  churches, 
banks,  and  fine  private  houses,  and  the  devil  is  served  with  an  open  cheerfulness  that 
knows  no  shame.  Here  are  the  famous  mines  of  the  Comstock  Lode,  known  through- 
out the  world  for  its  enormous  yield  of  the  precious  metals.  The  city  is  built  across 
the  face  of  the  mountain,  which  rises  two  thousand  feet  above,  and  falls  two  thou- 
sand feet  below  it.  The  pitch  of  the  ground  is  such  that  the  first  story  of  a  house 
becomes  a  second  or  third  story  in  the  rear,  and  looking  eastward,'  northward,  or 
southward,  we  see  an  unbroken  prospect  of  chain  after  chain  of  interlocked  mountain- 
peaks.  During  the  earlier  days  of  Virginia  City  the  red  record  of  murders  became 
so  monotonous  in  its  frequency  that  the  newspapers,  to  save  space,  simply  noticed 
them  in  the  death-column,  as,  for  example  :  "  Buckskin  Joe,  aged  twenty-five,  cut  to 
pieces  with  a  bowie-knife  yesterday,  by  Daredevil  Pete";  "Daredevil  Pete,  aged 
thirty,  hung  by  the  Vigilance  Committee  last  night.  Pete  had  killed  more  than  two 
dozen  men." 

The  people  of  Virginia  City  are  excessively  fond  of  display,  very  active  in  busi- 
ness, and  hospitable.  That  rough-looking  man  with  buckskin  trousers,  red  shirt,  and 
slouch  hat,  all  covered  with  mud,  is  a  dozen  times  a  millionaire,  and  may  yet  be  a 
United  States  Senator,  though  he  can  not  speak  a  dozen  straight  words  of  grammatical 
English.  The  city  is  full  of  picturesque  surprises,  and  is  a  most  interesting  study 
for  one  curious  in  the  oddities  of  human  nature.  To  show  the  energy  of  the  people, 
it  may  be  cited  that  in  1875  a  fire  swept  the  place  from  end  to  end,  devouring  ten 
million  dollars'  worth  of  property.  Within  six  months  the  whole  city  had  been  re- 
built. Chicago  is  the  only  place  we  know  which  rivals  this  example  of  push  and 
pluck.  To  guard  against  another  such  disaster  the  people  of  Virginia  City  built  a 
series  of  hydrants  and  reservoirs,  costing  two  million  dollars,  which  fetch  the  water 
a  distance  of  thirty-two  miles.  Now  it  is  easier  to  drown  out  the  city  than  to 
burn  it. 

Let  us  now  resume  our  journey  on  the  Central  Pacific  Eailway  to  Truckee  Station, 
where  curiosity  induces  us  to  leave  the  train  again  and  ride  three  miles  to  Donner  Lake, 
a  crystal  sheet  of  water  lying  in  the  lap  of  the  hills,  with  charming  smaller  lakes  sur- 
rounding it.  The  origin  of  the  name  is  a  familiar  story.  In  the  winter  of  1846-'47 
a  party  of  eighty-two  immigrants  were  overtaken  here  by  snow  ;  their  provisions  gave 
out,  and  thirty-six  perished.  Among  the  survivors,  when  relief  arrived,  was  a  Mrs. 


OODEN  TO   SAN  FRANC  I 300. 


109 


Donner  Lake,  from  the  Snoiv-Sheds. 

Donner,  whose  husband  was  so  ill  that  he  could  not  be  moved ;  she  insisted  upon 
remaining  with  him,  and  a  man  named  Keysbury  chose  to  stay  with  her.  The  others 
went  to  San  Francisco,  and  when,  in  the  spring,  a  party  was  sent  to  look  for  her, 


110 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


Donner  Rale. 


Keysbury  alone  was  found  alive,  and  living  on  her  remains,  his  motive  in  staying 
with  the  Donners  having  probably  been  plunder  and  murder.  A  leading  event  in 
Bret  Harte's  novel  of  "  Gabriel  Conroy "  was  based  on  this  tragedy,  and  the  opening 


OGDEN  TO  SAN  FRANCISCO. 


Ill 


chapter  of  the  same  work  contains  a  very  graphic  description  of  a  snow-storm  in  the 
Sierras. 

Within  a  convenient  distance  are  several  other  lakes,  all  of  them  offering  attrac- 
tions to  the  sportsman  and  lover  of  Nature.     These  are  Lake  Angeline  ;  Cascade  Lake, 


Lake  Angeline. 


01772  NATIVE  LAND. 


\ 


near  Lake  Tahoe ; 
Silver  Lake,  whence 
the  water-supply  of  Vir- 
ginia City  is  drawn ;  Pali- 
sade Lake,  noted  for  its  fine 
trout  ;  and  Fallen  -  Leaf 
Lake,  a  little  gem  of  pict- 
uresque beauty.  "  There 
can  be  no  more  perfect 
scenery  than  that  of  the 

western  slope  of  the  Sierras,"  it  has  been  said  very 
justly.  "  The  railway  winds  along  the  edges  of  great 
precipices,  and  at  sunrise  the  shadows  are  still  lying 

deep  in  the  caflons  below.  The  snow-covered  peaks  above  catch  the  first  rays  of  the 
sun,  and  glow  with  wonderful  color.  Light  wreaths  of  mist  rise  up  to  the  end  of 
the  zone  of  pines,  and  then  drift  away  into  the  air  and  are  lost.  The  aspect  of  the 
mountains  is  of  the  wildest  and  most  intense  kind,  for  by  the  word  intense  something 


Emigrant*  crossing  the  Sierras. 


OGDEN  TO   SAN  FRANCISCO. 


113 


seems  to  be  expressed  of  the 
positive  force  there  is  in  it, 
that  differs  utterly  from  the 
effect  of  such  a  scene  as  lies 
passive  for  the  imagination. 
This  is  grand ;  it  is  magnet- 
ic ;  there  is  no  escaping  the 
wonder-working  influence  of 
the  great  grouping  of  mount- 
ains and  ravines,  of  dense 
forests  and  ragged  pinnacles 
of  rock." 

But  in  winter  the  overland 
trains  pass  over  this  part  of 
the  journey  long  before  sun- 
rise, and  in  summer  the  pas- 
senger must  leave  his  bed  very  early  in  order  to  see  it. 
A  moonlight  night,  however,  with  wild  witchery,  lends 
the  greatest  magic  to  the  scene,  surpassing  the  sun- 
glare  of  daylight  and  the  stronger  colors  of  evening. 
To  stand  on  any  commanding  point  of  the  mountains 
when   the  moon   is  at   the  full,  and  the  sky  is  clear, 
reveals  a  charm  in  the  nature   of  the  lofty  rocks  at 
variance  with  their  aspect  at  any  other  hour.     In  the 
first  place,  the  sky  itself  never  seems   to  be  so  blue 
and  clear  elsewhere  as  it  does  over  the  Sierras  ;  it  is 
almost  the  blue  of  daylight,  and  the  stars  gleam  in  it 
as  thickly  as  the  phosphorescence  flashes  in  a  tropical 
sea.     The  mountains  are  enveloped  from  peak  to  foot 
in  a  misty  mantle  of  blue,  and  a  sharp  edge  of  light 

traces  their  outlines  in  the  shifting  vapor.  Their  bigness  and  weight  are  lost ;  mass- 
ive as  they  are  in  reality,  they  seem  to  become  mere  shadows,  and  the  snow  on  the 
summits  is  like  the  daylight  breaking  over  them. 

Two  hundred  and  forty-four  miles  from  San  Francisco  we  reach  the  station  of 
Summit,  at  the  great  height  of  seven  thousand  and  seventeen  feet  above  the  sea,  and 
thence  the  descent  is  made  into  the  Sacramento  Valley.  The  down  grade  is  now  one 
hundred  and  sixteen  feet  to  the  mile,  and  the  train  in  many  places,  as  it  wheels 
around  sharp  curves,  pitches  and  plunges  wildly,  alarming  the  more  timid  souls,  who 
every  moment  expect  to  be  dashed  over  a  precipice.  But  the  road  is  splendidly  con- 
structed, the  engineer  watchful  and  experienced,  and  the  cars  are  solidly  built,  so  there 
is  but  little  danger  in  this  headlong  ride  down  the  Sierra-sides,  though  it  almost  seems 
like  challenging  Fate. 

8 


Lmeer  Cascade,  Yuba  River. 


114 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


West  of  Truckee  the  snow-sheds  become  more  frequent,  and  in  one  case  they  are 
continuous  for  twenty-nine  miles.     They  are  of  two  kinds,  the  flat  roofs  built  to  hold 

the  weight  of  twenty-five  or 
thirty  feet  of  snow,  and  the 
steep  roof  designed  to  slide  it 
down  the  mountain.  In  some 
cases  the  cost  of  building  these 
protections  from  the  storms  of 
winter  was  thirty  thousand  dol- 
lars a  mile.  So  we  may  get 
some  idea  of  the  vast  amount 
of  money  which  it  took  to  com- 
plete the  railroad  connection 
across  the  continent.  There 
are  charming  spots  within  a 
short  distance  of  the  road, 
among  which  are  Kidd's  Lakes, 
which  pour  into  the  south 
branch  of  the  Yuba  River,  and 
gorge  of  that  river  whose  strik- 
ing bluffs  are  called  the  New 
Hampshire  rocks.  Should  we 
be  beguiled  into  visiting  all  the 
picturesque  spots  lying  within 
easy  distance  of  the  road  on 
the  western  slope  of  the  Sier- 
ras, our  journey  to  San  Fran- 
cisco, though  apparently  draw- 
ing to  an  end,  would  be  pro- 
longed for  weeks. 

A  point  worthy  of  notice  is 
called  Emigrants'  Gap,  a  try- 
ing passage  in  the  days  when 
the  only  vehicles  that  crossed 
the  Sierras  were  the  canvas-cov- 
ered wagons  of  the  pioneers, 
and  the  parlor-car  was  an  un- 
dreamed-of luxury.  The  old 

&•«*,  sine  Cafion.  emigrant-road,  which  occasion- 

ally  edges  on  the   railway,   is 

not  wholly  deserted  yet.     The  capacious  wagons,  with  their  arched  roofs  of  white  can- 
vas, loaded  ten  feet   high  with    furniture   and   stores,  are   now  and   then   seen   toiling 


OODEN  TO  SAN  FRANCISCO. 


115 


Giant's  Gap,  American  Canon. 

along  at  a  pitifully  slow  rate,  a  small  herd  of  cattle  following,  and  the  youngsters  of 
the  family  running  a  long  way  .ahead,  and  skirmishing  among  the  bordering  woods 
for  squirrels,  or  anything  else  to  shoot  at. 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


-T  ** 

' 


Great  American  Canon. 

In  spring,  when  the  farm- 
ers and  stock-raisers  of  the 
Sacramento  Valley  are  tak- 
ing their  herds  into  the  more 
luxuriant  mountain-pastures, 
and  at  the  beginning  of  win- 
ter, when  they  are  retreating 

before  the  early  snows  into  a  safer  region,  the  road  is 
lively  with  traffic,  but  not  with  such  traffic  as  was 
known  between  the  years  1850  and  1860.  At  fre- 
quent intervals  the  old  taverns  are  found,  their  ample 
apartments  vacant,  the  windows  and  doors  out,  and 

the  bar-room  only  remaining.  This  is  an  example  of  the  "  survival  of  the  fittest," 
for  the  lonely  red-shirted  dispenser  of  bad  whisky,  though  he  has  the  house  to  him- 
self, still  finds  custom  for  the  fiery  stuff  which  fills  his  decanters.  At  the  Gap  the 
road  makes  quite  a  sharp  descent,  in  which  the  emigrant-wagons  were  formerly  low- 


OGDEN  TO   SAN  FRANCISCO. 


117 


ered  by  means  of  ropes  that  were  fastened  to  the  pines,  which  here  are  of  immense 
girth  and  height. 

At  various  points  along  this  portion  of  the  road  are  saw-mills  and  shipping  points 
for  lumber.      One  of  these  is  Blue  Caflon,  through  which  runs  a  wild,  brawling  tor- 
rent called  Cedar  Creek,  a  place  of  bold 
and  striking  beauty.     The  traveler,  look- 
ing in  any  direction,  has  a  splendid  view 
before  him  of  great  hills,  heavily  timbered 
with  pine,  and  broken  into  sharp  peaks, 
upon  which  the  snow  remains  all  the  year 
round.      How  thick   the   pines   are,   and 
how  they  streak  the  steep  em- 
bankments upon  which  they  have         ( 

planted    themselves    like   battal- 
ions of  infantry  !     What  an  air 


of  deep  gloom  and  mys- 
tery they  have  !  Upon 
some  an  emerald  -  green 
moss  has  grown  in  rings  and  ir- 
regular patches — a  moss  having 
the  appearance  of  an  ostrich-feath- 
er, which  makes  a  striking  con- 
trast to  the  dark  green  of  the 
prickly  foliage,  and  the  dull  red 
of  the  bark.  In  the  distance  the 
pines  are  blue,  and  at  night  they 

are  intensely  black.  Blue  Caflon  is  the  snow  limit,  and  the  water  is  considered  the 
purest  and  best  in  the  mountain.  A  few  miles  farther  comes  Giant's  Gap,  one  of  the 
grandest  scenes  on  the  road.  A  great  chasm  appears,  worn  by  glaciers  to  a  depth  of 


Hydraulic  Mi/ruing,  Gold  Bun.  California. 


118 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND- 


two  thousand  feet,  and  ex- 
tending about  a  mile  to  the 
junction  of  the  South  Branch, 
the  walls  narrowing  and  be- 
coming   perpendicular,    and 
the    mountains    inclosing    it 
in  denser  clusters  than  ever. 
The   suddenness  of   the  ap- 
proach and  the  grandeur  of  the  prospect  are  not  easily 
described.      Two   thousand  feet  below  flow  the   quiet 
waters  of  the  American  Hirer. 

The  chasm  stretches  westward  and  southward,  the 
distance  broken  by  regiments  of  peaks  on  which  the 

pines  swarm  in  forests,  steeped  in  endless  twilight.  The  evidences  of  the  great  ice- 
glaciers  grinding  and  polishing  the  rocks  at  an  ancient  period  are  numerous.  "Look- 
ing from  the  summit  of  Mount  Diablo,  across  the  San  Joaquin  Valley,"  a  scientific 


OGDEN  TO   SAN  FRANCISCO.  119 

man  of  California  has  written,  "after  the  atmosphere  has  been  washed  with  winter 
rains,  the  Sierra  is  beheld  stretching  along  the  plain  in  simple  grandeur,  like  some 
immense  wall,  two  and  a  half  miles  high,  and  colored  almost  as  bright  as  a  rainbow, 
in  four  horizontal  bands — the  lowest  rose-purple,  the  next  higher  dark-purple,  the  next 
blue,  and  the  topmost  pearly-white — all  beautifully  interblended,  and  varying  in  tone 
with  the  time  of  day  and  the  advance  of  the  seasons.  The  rose-purple  band,  rising 
out  of  the  yellow  plain,  is  the  foot-hill  region,  sparsely  planted  with  oak  and  pine, 
the  color  in  a  great  measure  depending  upon  clayey  soils  exposed  in  extensive  open- 
ings among  the  trees ;  the  dark-purple  is  the  region  of  the  yellow  and  sugar  pines ; 
the  blue  is  the  cool  middle  region  of  the  silver-firs ;  and  the  pearly  band  of  summits 
is  the  Sierra  Alps,  composed  of  a  vast  wilderness  of  peaks  variously  grouped  and 
divided  by  huge  caflons,  and  swept  by  torrents  and  avalanches.  Here  are  the  homes 
of  all  the  glaciers  left  alive  in  the  Sierra  Nevada." 

All  along  the  Sierra-slope  the  waters  are  used  for  mining  purposes,  being  con- 
veyed by  ditches  and  flumes  when  the  streams  do  not  run  in  the  right  course. 
Placer-mining  and  hydraulic  mining  are  much  the  same  thing  on  a  different  scale. 
With  a  pick,  a  spade,  and  a  dust-pan,  his  complete  outfit  packed  on  the  back  of  a 
tiny  burro,  or  donkey,  the  poorest  miner  can  go  into  the  mountains,  "prospect" 
the  rocks,  and,  if  he  strikes  a  rich  lead,  work  it  alone  until  it  is  exhausted  or  the 
water  drowns  him  out.  Then  he  prospects  further,  or  enlists  capital,  which  is  used 
in  building  a  quartz-mill  and  pump  over  the  mine.  The  bullion  "dirt"  which  he 
finds  in  his  first  operations  is  put  into  tin  or  iron  vessels  called  dust-pans,  over  which 
a  stream  of  water  is  allowed  to  flow  ;  when  it  is  completely  saturated,  it  is  stirred, 
and  the  bullion  gradually  settles  to  the  bottom,  the  top  dirt  being  poured  off  from 
time  to  time,  until  nothing  remains  except  the  gold  and  silver,  and  a  fine  black  sand, 
which  is  afterward  separated  from  the  precious  metals  by  a  magnet.  The  rocker  or 
cradle  is  another  machine,  of  very  simple  design,  used  in  winnowing  gold  and  silver. 
It  is  literally  a  cradle.  The  dirt  is  thrown  in  upon  a  screen  at  one  end  ;  water 
passes  over  it,  and,  after  setting  the  gold  free,  which  falls  to  the  bottom,  carries  the 
worthless  dirt  away.  The  "  long  Tom  "  answers  the  same  purposes.  It  is  a  box  or 
a  sluice,  into  which  the  dirt  is  thrown  and  carried  by  a  stream  of  water  to  a  screen 
at  the  end,  where  the  gold  settles  to  the  bottom.  The  sluices  are  sometimes  very 
long,  and  several  of  them  are  ranged  side  by  side ;  what  appear  to  be  streams  of  gray 
mud  are  constantly  flowing  through  them,  and  at  night  the  strong  rays  of  a  locomo- 
tive head-light  are  thrown  upon  them  to  prevent  stealing.  The  deposits  of  gold- 
bearing  dirt  are  occasionally  several  hundred  feet  deep,  and  the  pick  and  shovel  give 
place  to  a  hose,  which  tapers  from  a  diameter  of  eight  inches  at  the  butt  to  two 
inches  at  the  orifice,  and  from  which  a  jet  of  water  is  thrown  upon  the  embankments 
of  earth  with  such  force  that  immense  bowlders  and  tons  upon  tons  of  earth  are  dis- 
placed. A  country  thus  torn  and  bared  by  hydraulic  mining  has  an  exceedingly  rag- 
ged and  repulsive  appearance.  When  gathered  in  quantities,  the  ore  is  treated  in  the 
quartz-mills,  and  the  result  is  delivered  to  the  mints  in  bullion-bricks. 


120 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


As  we  speed  along,  watching  with  intent  eye  the  succession  of  interesting  objects 
on  the  route,  a  sudden  excitement  is  evident  in  the  car.  Even  the  old  traveler,  who 
has  gone  over  the  route  many  times,  wakes  from  his  sleepy  indifference.  The  train 
is  approaching  Cape  Horn,  one  of  the  grandest  efforts  of  Nature  in  a  region  of 
grandeur.  The  Cape  is  a  precipitous  bluff  rising  to  a  height  of  over  two  thousand 
feet  above  the  river-level,  and  the  ledge  along  which  the  railway  is  carried  was  so 


Lake  iferritt,  Oakland. 

inaccessible  that  the  first  workmen  had  to  be  lowered  from  the  top  of  the  cliff  by 
ropes.  Standing  by  the  river-side  we  should  see  the  rugged  wall  of  rock  reaching 
toward  the  sky ;  great  bowlders  and  a  few  twisted  evergreens  cling  to  the  crumbling 
face  of  the  huge,  naked  precipice  :  and  the  train,  spinning  along  the  frail  ledge  under 
the  trail  of  its  own  smoke,  would  be  dwarfed  by  the  height  above  and  below  it  to 
the  likeness  and  size  of  a  snake. 

Swiftly  the  train  darts  down  the  steep  slopes  after  it  has  rounded  Cape  Horn,  and 


OGDEN  TO  SAN  FRANCISCO. 


121 


in  an  hour's  time  we  have  descended  into  the  valley  of  the  Sacramento,  and  find  our- 
selves in  the  heart  of  California.  Settlements  become  frequent  ;  the  aspect  of  the 
country  is  mild  and  peaceful,  and  orange-groves  grow  luxuriantly  everywhere  the  eye 
turns.  It  is  a  scene  of  exquisite  peace,  beauty,  and  contentment,  which  soothes  the 


122 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


mind  after  the  rugged  and   sublime   aspects  of  Nature   through  which   we  have  so 
recently  passed.     Flowers  crop  out  in  profusion  everywhere,  and  the  fertile  soil  shows 


Central  I'acijic  Wharf. 

its  richness  in  all  kinds  of  wonderful  productions.  The  atmosphere  is  no  longer  the 
same  as  in  the  interior  of  the  continent,  There  is  nothing  of  the  translucent  clear- 
ness, nothing  of  the  wonderful  light  which  kills  all  sense  of  distance.  It  is  like  the 


The  Ctifs,  and  Cliff  House,  San  Francisco. 

soft  sky  of  Spain  or  Italy,  with  a  blue,  hazy  horizon  mingling  with  the  purple  curtain 
of  the  mountains. 

About  noon  of  the  fifth  day  out  from  Omaha  the  train  rolls  into  Sacramento. 
The  city  has  broad  streets,  lined  with  charming  villas  and  cottages,  and  shaded  by 
handsome  trees.  The  Capitol  building  is  a  noble  structure,  with  a  front  of  three 


OGDEN  TO   SAN  FRANCISCO. 


123 


hundred  and  twenty  feet,  and  a  height  of  eighty.  The  dome  is  two  hundred  and 
twenty  feet  high,  surmounted  by  a  temple  of  Liberty  and  Powers's  bronze  statue  of 
California.  We  may  go  from  Sacramento  to  San  Francisco  by  boat,  but,  as  we  have 
come  through  overland, 
we  will  finish  the  jour- 
ney by  rail.  The  coun- 
try which  we  traverse  is 
fertile  almost  beyond  ri- 
valry. Far  reaching  cat- 
tle-ranches are  varied  by 
vineyards  and  orchards. 
Fruits  and  flowers  are  as 
common  as  in  the  trop- 
ics, and  yet  the  climate  is 
moderate.  Beautiful  vil- 
las and  neat  farm-houses 
dot  the  landscape  every- 
where. Lavish  prosper- 
ity appears  to  have  scat- 
tered its  blessings  with 
open  hands. 

We  ultimately  reach 
our  terminus  at  Oakland, 
where  we  are  transferred 
across  the  bay  in  luxu- 
rious ferry-boats  to  San 
Francisco.  Oakland  is 
richly  embowered  in  fo- 
liage, and  is  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  suburbs  in 
the  world.  Here  many 
of  the  richest  men  of 
San  Francisco  have  their 
homes,  and  wealth  has 
been  profusely  employed 
in  beautifying  the  place. 
Every  house  is  surround- 


Chinese  Quarter,  San  Francieco. 


ed  by  charming  grounds 

and    flower  -  gardens,   the 

drives  are   delightful,  and  in   Lake   Merritt  the  residents  have  a  beautiful  sheet  of 

water  in  their  very  midst. 

The  Bay  of  San  Francisco,  which  we  cross  by  ferry-boat,  is  large  enough  to  harbor 


124  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

the  combined  navies  of  the  world,  and  it  is  bordered  by  mountain,  city,  and  plain. 
As  we  leave  the  Oakland  wharf  we  see  Goat  Island  on  the  right — a  military  reserva- 
tion ;  the  Golden  Gate  is  northward,  and  Alcatraz,  a  naval  station,  is  at  the  end  of 
the  gate.  Angel  Island,  north  of  Alcatraz,  is  another  military  reservation  ;  and 
northwest  of  this  the  towering  peak  of  Mount  Tamalpais  may  be  seen.  Southward, 
the  view  extends  over  the  bay  toward  San  Jose  ;  and  everywhere,  except  where  the 
city  stands,  and  through  the  Golden  Gate,  it  is  shut  in  by  mountains. 

In  San  Francisco  we  are  landed  at  the  Market  Street  wharf,  where  transfer-vehicles 
are  ready  to  convey  us  in  any  direction.  The  population  of  the  city  is  about  two 
hundred  and  seventy-five  thousand ;  it  covers  a  territory  of  forty-two  square  miles, 
and  those  forty-two  square  miles  are  said  by  the  inhabitants  to  comprise  a  larger  pro- 
portion of  wealth,  beauty,  and  intellect,  than  the  same  area  in  any  other  city.  San 
Francisco  is  undoubtedly  very  charming.  Its  people  are  lavish  in  their  hospitality 
and  in  all  their  expenditures ;  the  hotels  are  palaces  ;  the  places  of  amusement  are 
numerous  and  liberally  conducted.  There  are  two  systems  of  streets,  Market  Street 
being  the  dividing-line.  The  wholesale  business  of  the  city  is  done  along  the  water- 
front and  north  of  Market  Street ;  and  retail  business  of  all  kinds  is  found  in  Kearny, 
Montgomery,  Third,  and  Fourth  Streets.  The  sidewalks  are  wide,  and  are  princi- 
pally of  wood,  though  some  are  of  asphalt  and  stone.  The  roadways  are  of  various 
materials.  One  noticeable  feature  is  the  number  of  bay-windows  in  the  houses,  which, 
however  agreeable  they  may  be  to  the  occupants,  are  often  not  so  judiciously  arranged 
as  to  avoid  spoiling  the  architectural  effect.  Among  the  pleasure-resorts  of  the  city 
are  the  Seal  Rocks,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Golden  Gate,  where,  from  the  balcony  of 
the  Cliff  House,  seals  may  be  seen  disporting  ;  Woodward's  Gardens,  a  combination 
of  museum,  menagerie,  theatre,  aquarium,  and  botanic  garden  ;  Lake  Merced ;  and 
Golden  Gate  Park,  which  embraces  about  eleven  hundred  acres.  Within  the  city 
is  the  Chinese  quarter,  which  presents  some  very  interesting  studies. 

The  proud  inhabitants  of  the  metropolis  of  the  Pacific  coast  are  wont  to  say  that 
its  forty-two  square  miles  include  more  wealth,  beauty,  and  brains,  to  the  area,  than 
any  other  city.  With  this  swelling  vaunt  on  the  part  of  the  people  of  the  city  of  the 
Golden  Gate,  we  will  pass  from  the  subject,  except  to  refer  the  reader  to  the  illustra- 
tions we  give  of  San  Francisco  and  its  surroundings. 

We  have  thus  crossed  the  continent  from  Omaha  to  the  Pacific  Ocean,  and  have 
found  the  scenery  of  the  Pacific  Railway  to  embrace  examples  of  nearly  all  the 
striking  and  curious  phases  of  Nature  to  be  found  in  the  Western  country — the 
fantastically  carved  sandstones,  the  Bad  Lands,  the  sage-plains,  the  wonderful  canons, 
and  the  various  kinds  of  mountains.  The  trip  is  often  tedious,  but  the  few  hours 
spent  in  crossing  the  Rocky  Mountains,  in  descending  Echo  and  Weber  Caflons,  in 
winding  among  the  colored  rocks  of  Green  River,  and,  finally,  in  cutting  the  Sierras, 
repay  us  many  times  over. 


Tacoma,  Mount  Rainier  in  the  background. 


A    GLIMPSE   OF   THE   FAR 
NORTHWEST. 


Characteristics  of  scenery  in  Washington  Territory 
— Luxuriant  primitive  beauty  and  wildness — 
Strange  mixture  of  civilization  and  barbarism — 
The  principal  towns  of  the  Territory — Early  tra- 
ditions and  history — Forests,  lakes,  and  mount- 
ains—  The  future  of  Washington  Territory— 
Characteristics  of  the  water-falls  of  the  far 
Northwest — Cascades  and  cataracts  in  Oregon 
—  Snoqualmie  Falls,  Washington  Territory  — 
Rhoshone  Falls,  Idaho — Sioux  River  Falls — Falls 
of  the  Missouri. 


THE  tourist  who  has  exhausted  all  the  charming  scenery  of  the  United  States  that 
is  easy  of  access,  and  visited  the  many  beautiful  landscapes  which  please  the  eye  of 
the  European  traveler,  must  not  believe  that  Nature  has  but  little  more  to  offer  him. 
He  will  speedily  learn  how  the  universal  Mother  pours  out  her  wealth  of  resources  in 
forms  of  fresh  and  fascinating  interest,  by  turning  his  footsteps  to  that  grand  domain 
adjoining  the  Pacific  Ocean,  and  stretching  far  into  the  interior,  known  as  the  "Far 
Northwest."  Here  he  will  find  a  region  larger  than  all  Europe,  Russia  excepted, 
which  is  to-day  practically  an  unknown  land  ;  an  area  which  in  charm  of  climate, 


126  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

beauty  of  color,  variety  of  pastoral  scenery,  extent  of  forests,  nobleness  of  rivers,  and 
grandeur  of  mountains  will  compare  with  any  in  the  world,  go  where  he  may.  Plant- 
life  presents  new  and  strange  forms  growing  in  tropical  profusion,  and  the  animals 
almost  compare  with  those  of  Central  Africa  in  abundance.  Nature  has  showered  her 
blessings  most  freely  throughout  the  whole  region,  for  not  only  has  she  spread  abroad 
the  most  delightful  and  varied  scenery,  but  the  soil  is  so  lush  and  warm  that  it  only 
needs  to  be  "tickled  with  the  hoe  to  laugh  with  the  harvest."  It  would  not  much 
overstate  the  fact  to  assert  that  the  most  charming  features  of  other  parts  of  the  world 
are  here  combined  to  form  a  panorama  expressing  every  type  and  emotion  of  scenic 
beauty.  Washington  Territory  is,  perhaps,  the  most  attractive  section  of  this  noble 
region.  Its  undulating  face  shows  us  the  rolling  prairie,  the  high  plateau,  the  pictur- 
esque dingle  and  the  deep  forest,  the  murmuring  brook  and  the  majestic  river,  the 
sloping  beauty  of  hill-sides  and  the  snow-clad  crests  of  towering  mountain-ranges. 

Let  us  take  a  short  journey  through  this  grand  Territory,  beginning  at  Kalama,  a 
hamlet  on  the  Columbia  Eiver  about  a  hundred  miles  from  its  mouth.  This  town  was 
laid  out  at  the  height  of  the  Northern  Pacific  Railway  excitement  in  1870,  and  it  was 
predicted  by  prophets  who  had  land  to  sell  that  the  town  would  soon  blossom  into  a 
city  which  would  make  San  Francisco  look  to  her  laurels.  Everybody  was  wild  with 
speculation,  and  people  thronged  from  all  parts  of  the  country  to  buy  a  foot  or  two 
of  the  precious  soil.  Houses  sprang  up  like  magic  in  this  El  Dorado  that  was  to  be, 
and  great  prices  were  paid  for  small  town-lots.  But  the  bubble  burst,  and  the  town 
which  had  suddenly  grown  to  a  population  of  several  thousands  sank  to  as  many  hun- 
dreds. It  has  still,  however,  some  importance  as  the  terminus  of  the  Puget  Valley  Kail- 
road.  Here  we  are  booked  for  a  trip  to  the  northern  part  of  the  Territory. 

The  train  consists  of  a  locomotive  and  one  car,  and  we  find  it  taken  up  by  a  very 
small  and  select  company,  among  whom  may  be  mentioned  a  Chinaman,  an  Indian 
half-breed,  an  ugly  Flathead  squaw,  and  a  German  immigrant  family,  whose  greenish- 
yellow  hair  and  skim-milk  eyes  contrast  most  strongly  with  the  coarse  dark  hair  and 
tawny  faces  of  their  companions.  This  curious  commingling  of  races  suggests  to  us 
the  lion  and  the  lamb  lying  down  together,  though  one  fancies  that  the  squaw  eyes 
the  Celestial  in  a  way  to  show  that  she  would  not  object  to  adorning  her  person  with 
his  long  and  well-braided  cue. 

We  pass  through  forests  which  show  the  luxuriance  of  Nature  in  her  primitive  con- 
dition. The  lofty  firs  with  their  tapering  forms  tower  up  to  a  height  of  four  hundred 
feet,  presenting  a  funereal  aspect  in  their  garb  of  gloomy  green ;  but  here  and  there  a 
gay  dingle  of  white-blossomed  shrubs,  bright-green  maple,  or  graceful  ash  appears  and 
relieves  the  monotonous  hue  of  the  evergreens.  One  characteristic  of  the  vegetation  is 
the  brilliant  coloring  of  the  flowers  which  are  of  the  most  gaudy  hues,  generally  of  a 
bright  red  or  of  a  glaring  yellow.  After  traveling  about  forty  miles,  we  take  stage  and 
go  across-country  fifteen  miles  away  to  Olympia,  which  is  the  capital  of  the  Territory. 
One  mile  before  reaching  this  city  we  pass  through  the  picturesque  and  thriving  vil- 
lage of  Tumwater,  which  is  the  possessor  of  a  charming  little  water-fall,  known  by  the 


A    GLIMPSE  OF  THE  FAR   NORTHWEST. 


127 


sweet-sounding  Indian  name  of  Tumchuck,  or  "Sounding-Water."  It  comes  bounding 
over  a  rocky  ledge  green  with  mosses  and  gay  with  wild  flowers,  and  tumbles  into  a 
basin  filled  with  miniature  waves  of  foam.  The  active  villagers  do  not  let  it  rest  in 
idleness,  for  they  have  built  factories  along  its  course,  and  its  liquid  sound  is  min- 
gled with  the  sharp  buzz  of  lumber-saws  and  the  noisy  splash  of  mill-wheels.  Through 
the  broad  central  street  of  Olympia  our  stage  dashes  with  a  rattle  that  brings  all 
the  loungers  and  idling  merchants  to  the  door  to  see  the  new  arrivals. 

The  place  has  a  population  of  two  thousand,  and  is  situated  on  Budd's  Inlet,  an 
arm  of  Puget  Sound.      It  is  almost  surrounded  by  water,  while  forests  guard  it  on 


Olympia,  on  Puget  Hound. 

every  side.  As  respects  landscape,  no 
more  charming  spot  could  be  selected 
for  a  city.  The  placid  bosom  of  Puget 
Sound,  covered  with  steamers,  wheezing 
tugs,  and  white-sailed  boats,  lies  direct- 
ly in  front ;  on  both  sides  of  the  sound  dense  forests,  that  extend  to  the  horizon  in 
every  direction,  greet  the  vision  ;  while  far  to  the  north  towers  the  Olympic  Eange, 
whose  snowy  crest  competes  with  the  heavy  masses  of  fleecy,  cumulus  clouds  for  su- 
premacy. This  grand  scene,  illumined  by  the  mellow  light  of  the  evening  sun,  pro- 
duces a  picture  which  can  not  be  excelled  in  color,  breadth,  or  motion.  It  presents,  at 
a  glance,  contrasts  of  light  and  shade,  tranquillity  and  energy,  action  and  repose  ;  yet 
all  blend  harmoniously  together.  At  night  the  pictorial  effect  is  somewhat  enhanced, 
for  at  high  tide  the  water  forms  several  canals  through  portions  of  the  suburbs,  and 


128 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


this  reflects,  with  the  most  mi- 
nute accuracy,  the  scintillating 
lights  of  the  city  ;  even  persons 
passing  along  its  shores  are  seen 
in  the  mirrored  sea  as  if  they 
were  walking  on  the  star-dot- 
ted sky.  On  moonlit  nights 
the  heavy  forests,  changed  into 
spiral  wreaths  of  foliage,  and 
the  snowy  range,  nearly  two 
hundred  miles  to  the  north, 
are  reflected  with  photographic 
minuteness,  so  that  a  person 
need  scarcely  move  from  his 
piazza  to  behold  one  of  the 
grandest  scenes  imaginable. 

The  city,  so  charming  in  its 
surroundings  of  scenery,  pos- 
sesses a  most  agreeable  climate, 
for  during  the  hottest  season 
of  the  year,  July  and  August, 
cooling  breezes  from  the  snow- 
clad  mountains  and  the  frigid 
waters  of  the  sound  fan  the  air 
to  a  delicious  freshness,  which 
leaves  one  nothing  to  desire. 
One  can  always  sleep  under 
blankets,  and  the  twilight  lasts 
so  long  that  one  can  read  till 
nearly  ten  o'clock  at  night  with- 
out lighting  the  lamp.  If  we 
would  revel  in  what  the  Ital- 
ians call  the  "sweet  doing  noth- 
ing," there  are  few  places  more 
attractive.  Here  may  be  en- 
joyed all  the  pleasures  of  the 
rod  and  gun,  for  one  needs 
only  to  go  a  mile  or  two  out 
of  town  to  try  his  rifle  on 
bear  or  deer,  while  grouse  and 
other  game-birds  are  so  plenty 
in  season  as  to  be  easily  killed 


A    GLIMPSE  OF  THE  FAR  NORTHWEST.  129 

with  sticks  and  stones.  The  sound  and  every  stream  pouring  into  it  swarm  with 
fine  fish,  and  the  sportsman  can  hardly  go  amiss. 

The  contrast  of  civilization  and  barbarism  in  the  Indian  villages  scattered  along 
the  beach  is  very  amusing.  The  "noble  red-man"  spends  his  time  in  lordly  idleness, 
and  condescends  to  sell  the  products  of  his  squaw's  industry,  with  which  he  may  hie 
to  some  spot  where  he  can  purchase  of  that  elixir  which  is  his  "open  sesame"  to  an 
earthly  paradise.  The  result  is,  that  Indian  war-whoops  and  demoniacal  yelling,  worse 
than  a  million  cat-concerts,  disturb  the  serenity  of  the  night  very  often,  and  cause 
the  pale-faces  to  spend  much  of  the  time  which  ought  to  be  consecrated  to  sleep 
in  breaking  the  second  commandment. 

The  presence  of  the  Indian  population  in  this  locality  has  affected  the  conversa- 
tion of  the  whites  to  such  an  extent  that  the  stranger  would  be  at  a  loss  to  under- 
stand many  of  their  terms.  It  is  not  unusual,  for  instance,  to  hear  a  young  lady, 
who  patters  her  French  glibly,  say  that  hiyou  persons  attended  the  last  sociable ; 
that  Mr.  Smith  is  a  great  tyee,  or  chief,  in  society  ;  that  the  Browns  are  elip 
tillicums,  or  of  the  first  families  ;  that  a  certain  spot  is  a  good  picnicking  illahee ; 
or  that  the  last  concert  was  a  clash  musical  wa-wa  —  a  good  concert.  The  word 
chuck  is  the  most  frequent  term  for  water  among  the  pioneers,  and  tyee  for  some 
local  celebrity.  All  the  old  citizens  speak  the  Indian  tongue,  known  as  the  Chinook, 
as  fluently  as  the  natives  themselves.  This  language,  which  is  formed  of  Indian, 
English,  and  French  words,  was  originated  by  the  Hudson  Bay  Fur  Company,  in 
order  that  the  coast  tribes  might  have  one  language,  which  traders  could  under- 
stand. The  result  of  their  linguistic  efforts  is,  that  any  person  now  who  speaks 
the  Chinook  can  travel  among  the  Northwestern  tribes  with  facility,  as  all,  except 
the  very  old  people,  will  readily  understand  him.  The  missionaries  have  also  found 
it  useful  in  giving  instruction  in  Christian  doctrines,  and  nearly  all  their  sermons  are 
now  delivered  in  that  language.  The  most  popular  hymns  have  been  translated  into 
Chinook,  and  the  red-man,  when  not  too  much  absorbed  in  the  hunt  after  fire-water, 
loves  to  troll  these  religious  ditties,  which  are  often  curiously  mixed  up  with  profane 
sentiments.  For  example,  an  Indian  may  be  sometimes  heard  singing  ecstatically  how 
little  he  cares  for  only  one  bottle  of  whisky  ;  then  suddenly  plunge  into  a  prayer  to 
Omnipotence  to  give  him  his  daily  bread,  and  a  seat  in  the  heavenly  Zion  after  death. 

A  run  of  twenty-four  hours  on  the  steamboat  brings  us  to  the  hamlet  of  Steila- 
coom,  which  is  charmingly  situated  in  the  midst  of  flower-clad  prairies  and  beautiful 
groves,  that  look  as  if  they  might  have  been  arranged  by  a  •  landscape  -  gardener. 
All  around,  within  a  few  miles,  are  pretty  lakes,  whose  pellucid  waters  swarm  with 
fish  and  wild-fowl.  In  the  distance  may  be  seen  the  shining  peaks  of  the  Cascade 
Kange  clad  with  eternal  snows.  The  town  has  some  historical  importance.  It  was 
here  that  General  Harney  dispatched  Lieutenant  Pickett,  since  noted  as  a  Confederate 
general,  to  seize  San  Juan  Island,  then  claimed  by  Great  Britain. 

The  pioneers  are  wont  to  relate  stirring  anecdotes  of  these  times  with  great  gusto. 
When  Lieutenant  Pickett  took  the  Island  of  San  Juan,  the  pompous  British  com- 

9 


130  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

mander  threatened  to  land  soldiers  from  the  English  fleet,  and  capture  his  miserable 
fortification.  The  American  replied  that  the  other  was  able  to  carry  out  his  threat, 
but  it  would  be  at  the  expense  of  many  a  red-coat's  life.  His  careless  and  easy 
bearing  led  to  a  prudent  inactivity  on  the  part  of  the  Britons,  and  the  island  was 
afterward  ceded  peacefully  to  the  United  States.  When  the  island  was  for  a  time 
occupied  conjointly  by  the  two  nations,  magistrates  were  appointed  by  both  to  mete 
out  justice  to  all.  But  the  dignity  of  the  British  officials  was  so  shocked  by  the  con- 
duct of  their  American  brethren  on  the  bench,  that  they  soon  retired  from  such  vul- 
gar company.  We  are  told  that  the  English  judge  appointed  to  the  island  circuit, 
impressed  with  his  own  importance,  appeared  in  court  in  faultless  attire,  and  wearing 
the  most  fashionable  gloves.  His  Yankee  brother,  on  the  other  hand,  had  on  a  suit 
of  rusty  gray,  a  collarless  flannel  shirt,  and  his  large  and  horny  hands  had  never 
known  any  other  covering  than  a  coating  of  dirt.  The  Britisher  could  hardly  stand 
such  company,  but  a  severe  sense  of  duty  kept  him  at  his  post.  Finally,  a  last  straw 
broke  the  camel's  back.  The  American  jurist  came  into  court  one  day  with  unkempt 
hair  and  beard,  the  same  dirty-gray  suit,  but  arrayed  in  a  pair  of  brand-new,  yellow- 
kid  gloves  of  the  most  flaming  hue,  through  which  the  hands  seemed  to  have 
sprawled.  When  seated  on  the  bench  he  held  up  his  hands  with  fingers  outstretched, 
and  a  broad  grin  on  his  face,  and  the  audience  so  roared  with  laughter  that  no  busi- 
ness could  be  transacted.  The  mockery  was  so  palpable  and  so  successful,  too,  that  the 
Englishman  vowed  he  would  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  such  a  boor,  and  re- 
signed. So  thereafter  the  cases  were  tried  before  the  rude  and  fun-loving  American 
justice  alone.  Such  are  the  stories  told  by  the  Steilacoomers,  who  think  their  town 
had  no  small  share  in  the  capture  of  San  Juan,  and  the  settlement  of  the  boundary- 
line. 

Taking  the  train  four  miles  from  this  little  village,  we  now  proceed  to  Tacoma,  the 
northern  terminus  of  the  road,  the  route  lying  through  the  same  magnificent  forests 
that  are  found  in  the  whole  region  lying  west  of  the  Cascade  Range,  an  area  embrac- 
ing thirty  thousand  square  miles.  This  embryo  city  is  already  a  great  lumbering-mart, 
and  is  destined  to  be  a  place  of  notable  importance.  The  houses  of  Tacoma  have  no 
more  order  than  if  they  had  been  dropped  in  a  shower  of  rain,  but  the  place  has  an 
air  of  energy  and  thrift  that  augurs  well  for  its  future,  which  is  prophesied  by  the 
miles  of  logs  scattered  along  the  beach,  the  endless  piles  of  sawed  lumber,  and  the 
number  of  ships  in  the  harbor.  The  principal  trees  contributing  to  the  lumber  busi- 
ness are  the  red  and  yellow  fir.  These  forest  giants  are  only  surpassed  in  size  by  the 
California  red-wood  trees,  of  which  we  have  heard  so  much.  Some  of  them  grow  four 
hundred  feet  high  and  fifteen  feet  through,  single  trees  yielding  eighty  thousand  feet 
of  sawed  lumber.  Out  of  the  yellow  fir  are  made  the  huge  ship  spars  and  masts  which 
the  Territory  exports  to  all  parts  of  the  world.  Such  are  its  qualities  that  the  Euro- 
pean governments  have  agents  continually  there  to  buy  the  quantity  they  may  desire. 
There  are  thirty  lumber-mills  along  the  sound,  which  cut  about  four  million  feet  a 
year ;  and  it  is  believed  that  this  region  alone  is  able  to  supply  the  whole  world  with 


A    GLIMPSE  OF  THE  FAR  NORTHWEST. 


131 


timber  for  years  to  come,  and  that  it  is  likely  to  become  some  day  the  great  lumber- 
exporting  and  ship-building  mart  of  the  world. 

From  Tacoma  all  northern  travel  is  by  water,  as  railroads  are  very  sparse  in  the 
Territory.  Little  puffing  steamboats  stir  up  the  waters  of  Puget  Sound,  and  their  long 
pillars  of  smoke  rising  in  the  air  may  be  seen  floating  over  the  picturesque  expanse  of 


Scenery  of  Puget  Sound. 

water.  Taking  one  of  these  little  steamers,  which  if  small  are  fast,  we  have  a  most 
delightful  water-journey  to  Seattle,  some  thirty  miles  to  the  north.  The  scenery  is 
made  more  interesting  by  the  frequent  sight  of  fishing  hamlets,  and  fleets  of  Indian 
canoes  bound  for  the  fishing-grounds.  The  charm  of  the  splendid  inland  sea  of  Puget 
Sound  lies  as  much  in  its  magnitude  and  the  calm  grandeur  of  its  surroundings  as  in 
merely  brilliant  effects.  On  a  fine  day  there  are  three  strongly  marked  colors  in  the 
view — the  white  of  the  snow-peaks,  the  deep  somber  green  of  the  fir-forests,  and  the 
blue  of  the  sky  and  water.  When  the  rose-tints  of  the  setting  sun  flush  the  scene,  the 
•tints  of  water  and  sky,  of  mountain-peak  and  woodland,  are  so  soft,  varied,  and  deli- 
cate, that  they  can  only  be  compared  to  the  changes  of  the  kaleidoscope.  Exquisite 
contrasts  of  color,  greatness  of  spaces,  and  sublimity  of  mountain  outline,  may  be  said 
to  be  peculiarly  characteristic  of  Puget  Sound. 

At  Seattle  we  find  a  most  interesting  body  of  water  in  Lake  Washington,  as  also 
the  largest  of  the  territorial  lakes.  It  is  twenty-five  miles  long,  and  from  three  to  five 
miles  in  width,  and,  as  an  example  of  lakes  buried  in  wooded  regions,  is  one  of  the 


132  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

finest  in  the  United  States.  Heavy  forests  extending  in  unbroken  ridges  up  the  mount- 
ain-sides surround  it,  and  high  up  above  all  looms  Mount  Rainier,  a  snow-peak  four- 
teen thousand  feet  high.  At  one  time  it  was  believed  that  the  Federal  Government 
would  locate  a  naval  station  for  ship-building  here,  as  the  lake  could  easily  be  con- 
nected with  the  sound  by  a  canal  which  would  only  need  to  be  a  mile  long.  The 
banks  yield  coal,  iron,  and  lumber  in  rich  profusion,  and  the  water  is  deep  enough 
to  float  the  heaviest  ships.  It  is  by  no  means  improbable  that  the  great  navy-yard  of 
the  country  may  yet  be  located  here,  for  every  natural  advantage  appears  to  exist  for 
such  a  selection. 

The  city  of  Seattle  has  about  three  thousand  population,  and  does  a  great  busi- 
ness as  compared  with  its  size.  It  has  a  university  (so  called),  and  excellent  common 
schools,  and  the  people  are  immensely  proud  of  its  superiority  as  the  territorial  seat 
of  learning.  Formerly  it  was  called  New  York,  but  a  fit  of  generosity,  mingled 
with  a  spasm  of  common-sense,  caused  a  change  of  name  to  that  which  it  now  bears 
in  honor  of  Seatl-h,  chief  of  the  Duwamish  tribe  of  Indians,  who  proved  himself  the 
steadfast  friend  of  the  whites  during  the  dark  days  of  1855-'56,  when  they  could  not 
move  out  of  the  town  without  risking  their  lives.  It  was  he  who  sent  word  to  his 
pale-faced  brethren  that  they  would  be  attacked  by  a  large  body  of  warriors  on  a 
certain  day ;  and  this  timely  information  prevented  not  only  a  massacre,  but  was  the 
means  of  driving  the  warlike  savages  out  of  that  section  of  country ;  for,  when  they 
attacked  the  settlement,  they  were  received  so  warmly  by  the  little  garrison,  and 
shelled  so  vigorously  by  the  sloop-of-war  Decatur,  that  they  never  again  attempted 
the  capture  of  any  village  along  the  sound.  The  old  chief,  who  possessed  a  face 
unusually  kind  and  expressive  for  one  of  his  race,  lived  to  a  ripe  old  age,  revered 
by  all  who  knew  him.  From  Seattle  one  may  make  an  excursion  to  the  Cascade 
Eange,  only  a  few  miles  away.  We  find  the  richest  alluvial  lands,  pretty  mountain- 
valleys,  hidden  amid  rocky  pinnacles,  and  foaming  streams  that  burst  from  their 
beds  of  snow  to  steal  down  as  purling  brooks  through  the  meadows  below.  Such  a 
delightful  primitive  country,  where  one  is  alone  with  Nature  in  the  most  cheerful 
and  picturesque  woods,  would  almost  reconcile  the  mind  to  the  free  barbaric  life  of 
the  red-man.  Another  pleasant  excursion  is  a  visit  to  Snoqualmie  Falls,  called  by 
some  genius  of  a  poetical  turn  the  Niagara  of  the  Northwest.  The  cataract  is  two 
hundred  and  seventy  feet  high,  and,  when  the  river  is  strong,  has  a  width  of  eighty 
feet.  Hemmed  in  by  dense  woods,  enveloped  at  the  base  by  huge  crags  of  basalt 
dark  as  the  shadows  of  night,  and  fed  by  a  swift  river,  it  possesses  many  of  the  ele- 
ments of  the  best  scenes  produced  by  falling  water.  The  cataract  is  far  more  than 
picturesque  in  the  gloom  and  fury  with  which  it  pours  over  the  precipice.  The  falls 
are  carefully  avoided  by  the  Indians,  who  believe  that  the  roar  of  the  water  is  the 
wailing  of  the  dead  lamenting  their  sins,  and  that  any  intrusion  on  this  magic  ground 
would  be  punished  by  death.  One  of  the  legends  of  the  falls  is  that  a  large  band 
of  warriors  from  the  mountains,  at  war  with  a  coast  tribe,  attempted  to  surprise  a 
party  of  the  latter  encamped  at  the  foot  of  the  cataract.  Unacquainted  with  the 


A    GLIMPSE  OF  THE  FAR  NORTHWEST. 


133 


river,  their  war-canoes  were  hurled  over  the  brink,  and  they  were  dashed  to  pieces 
on  the  rocks  below.  Their  death-shout,  mingling  with  the  roar  of  the  waters,  was 
the  first  intimation  which  the  sleeping  camp  below  had  of  the  nearness  of  their  foes. 
After  the  first  fear  was  over,  the  suddenly  aroused  braves  lighted  fires,  and  went 
searching  for  their  enemies,  scalping  all  they  found,  and  mutilating  the  remains  in 
such  a  manner  that  any  tribe  who  might  discover  them  would  be  certain  to  know 


Snoyualmie  Falls. 

that  it  was  the  bravery  of  the  Snoqualmie  warriors  that  had  sent  so  many  foes  to 
the  spirit-land.  Having  completed  their  work,  the  proud  band  set  out  for  their  own 
village,  and  entered  it  with  shouts  and  songs  of  joy,  the  envy  of  every  man  and  the 
pride  of  every  woman  who  had  not  been  present  at  the  successful  catastrophe.  The 
young  chief  who  had  controlled  the  party  was  admired  so  much  for  his  good  fortune 
that  he  was  appointed  to  the  supreme  command  of  the  village,  and  from  that  day 


134  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

forth  success  attended  the  standard  of  the  tribe.  The  fame  of  its  warriors  had  be- 
come so  great  that  they  were  deemed  invincible,  and  few  foes  dared  to  measure 
spears  with  them.  The  descendants  of  these  invincibles  must  have  deteriorated  sadly 
of  late  ;  for  to-day  they  are  as  poor  and  plebeian  a  throng  as  ever  wore  moccasins, 
and  the  last  in  the  world  to  be  taken  for  the  descendants  of  high-spirited  sires. 

Among  the  animals  found  in  this  part  of  Washington  Territory  is  one  of  curious 
traits  and  ungainly  form,  which,  so  far  as  is  known,  is  not  found  in  other  parts  of 
the  world.  It  has  some  of  the  habits  of  the  ground-squirrel,  but  it  also  resembles 
the  beaver  in  the  manner  in  which  it  cuts  roots  and  shrubs  to  get  its  food.  The 
showtl,  as  it  is  called,  is  only  about  thirteen  inches  long,  and  from  five  to  seven 
inches  high,  and  lives  for  the  most  part  in  deep  burrows.  The  claws  are  strong  and 
sharp,  with  great  power  as  mining  implements ;  so,  when  pursued,  the  showtl  tries  to 
dig  a  burrow  to  hide  itself.  It  appears  to  be  the  only  example  of  its  kind  known 
with  the  exception. of  an  animal  a  little  like  it  in  Australia,  and  to  have  the  sole 
use  in  the  scheme  of  life  to  be  the  connecting  link  between  the  squirrel  and  the 
beaver,  to  both  of  which  it  has  some  likeness  of  form  and  habit.  The  Indians  have 
a  tradition  that  this  little  animal  was  the  first  creature  endowed  with  life,  and  the 
source  whence  sprang  their  own  race.  Nevertheless,  they  think  its  flesh  a  delicious 
morsel,  just  as  the  African  negroes,  who  revere  the  gorilla  as  their  progenitor,  also 
love  to  feast  on  the  meat  of  the  huge  ape. 

Taking  passage  again  on  board  of  a  steamer,  we  proceed  among  the  islands  of  the 
Washington  Archipelago,  and  pass  several  thriving  hamlets  on  the  shores.  The  route 
to  the  north  reveals  the  same  limitless  sea  of  foliage  and  towering  snow-peaks — whose 
solitude  apparently  has  never  been  broken  by  the  foot  of  man — which  we  have  noticed 
before.  But  soon  the  heavy  smoke  loitering  over  the  tops  shows  that  we  are  ap- 
proaching the  celebrated  lumbering  towns  for  which  Puget  Sound  is  famous.  These 
towns  are  occupied  only  by  the  hands  engaged  in  the  mills,  outsiders  being  tabooed 
for  fear  that  they  might  engage  in  business  transactions  which  would  injure  the  trade 
of  the  companies  owning  the  factories  and  town  sites.  The  most  important  of  these 
lumber-marts  is  Port  Gamble,  which  boasts  that  it  has  the  largest  saw-mill  in  the 
world,  its  capacity  being  one  hundred  thousand  feet  a  day !  This  is  situated  on 
Hood's  Canal,  a  branch  of  the  sound  noted  for  its  pretty  harbors  and  charming 
scenery.  Its  bluffs  are  so  bold  that  a  ship  could  be  ranged  alongside  and  fastened  to 
a  tree  on  shore  without  incurring  any  danger  of  running  aground.  The  same  thing 
may  be  said  of  the  whole  of  Puget  Sound,  and  it  is  this  fact  that  makes  it  the  finest 
and  safest  harbor  in  the  world. 

A  large  island  in  Puget  Sound,  called  Whidby,  which  attracts  attention  from  its 
bold  promontories,  is  remarkable  for  the  peculiarity  of  its  deer,  nearly  every  one  being 
handsomely  mottled,  while  some  are  pure  white,  an  effect  resulting  from  features  of 
soil  and  climate.  The  Indians  in  the  northwestern  portion  of  Washington  Territory 
have  for  many  years  been  peaceable,  and  have  good  schools,  conducted  by  Catholic 
missionaries,  both  priests  and  nuns.  Their  good  works  are  manifest  in  the  superior 


A    GLIMPSE   OF  THE  FAR  NORTHWEST. 


135 


character  of  the  Indians  of  this  portion  of  the  Northwest.  The  pupils  of  the  school 
are  not  only  taught  the  simpler  forms  of  book-lore,  but  are  carefully  educated  in 
farming,  gardening,  and  several  of  the  trades,  such  as  carpentering  and  blacksmithing, 
while  the  Indian  girls  are  instructed  in  cooking,  dress-making,  and  similar  household 
arts. 

In  these  random  descriptions  of  the  more  settled  and  easily  reached  portions  of 
Washington  Territory,  but  little  has  been  said  of  its  wonderful  interior,  which  is 
equally  interesting  for  its  beauty  of  scenery,  the  richness  of  its  valleys  and  savannas, 
the  profusion  and  variety  of  its  game,  and  the  great  forests  which  offer  an  almost 
inexhaustible  field  for  the  lumberman.  It  will  probably  be  many  years  before  Wash- 
ington Territory  is  much  more  settled  than  it  is  now,  owing  to  the  large  extent  of 
desirable  lands  so  much  easier  of  access.  For  many  years  it  will  be  rather  known  as 
a  paradise  for  the  sportsman  and  a  delightful  resort  for  the  invalid,  than  as  a  great 
field  for  industry.  But  the  time  will  surely  come,  so  say  those  best  acquainted  with 


Haw-Mill,  Port  Gamble. 

the  resources  of  this  remoter  portion  of  the  United  States,  when  its  almost  bound- 
less advantages  will  make  it  one  of  the  most  prosperous  and  favored  corners  of  the 
land. 

One  of  the  most  striking  features  of  scenery  in  the  far  Northwest  consists  in 
the  character  of  its  cataracts  and  cascades. .  These  are  formed  by  rivers  that  take 
their  rise  in  great  mountain  -  peaks.  They  are  marked  by  their  mighty  leaps,  the 


136 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


roughness  of  their  surroundings,  and  their  strange  outlines.  But  these  rugged  feat- 
ures are  often  softened  by  the  rich  greenery  that  envelops  them.  The  entire  region 
beyond  the  Rocky  Mountains  is  of  volcanic  origin,  and  the  rivers  are  narrow,  deep, 
and  rapid,  for  it  requires  both  volume  and  swiftness  to  cut  through  the  rocks  of 
adamant  which  obstruct  their  courses.  Thus  these  cascades  possess  features  pecul- 
iar to  themselves.  For  example,  numerous  rocky  islets  check  the  flow  of  the  water 
before  making  its  final  bound,  and  thus  produce  a  series  of  boiling  eddies  and  small 

leaps  which  add  much  to  the  strik- 
ing effect  of  the  main  fall.  Another 
feature  is  the  suddenness  with  which 
the  final  leap  is  made,  and  the  brill- 
iancy of  the  rainbows  which  flash  and 
die  so  swiftly.  The  falls  are  gener- 
ally convex  in  form,  owing  to  the 
velocity  of  the  rush.  The  vigorous 
motion  gives  them  a  pictorial  effect 
very  striking.  The  cascades  that  pass 
through  forests  are  usually  narrow 
and  small  in  volume ;  but  they  have 
the  greatest  altitude,  and  such  force 
that  they  hiss  fiercely  as  they  bound 
from  their  shallow  bed  to  Ml  over 
the  precipice  in  a  tissue  of  snowy 
foam.  Those  that  flow  through  open 
or  treeless  spaces  are  broad,  massive, 
and  deep.  The  former  brawl  while 
the  latter  roar ;  one  expresses  the 
picturesque,  the  oiher  has  a  wild, 
rude  grandeur. 

Beginning  with  the  region  bor- 
dering on  the  Pacific  Ocean,  north 
of  California,  we  find  the  first  impor- 
tant falls  in  Southern  Oregon,  known 
as  the  Rogue  River  Falls.  They  are 

River  Falls.  formed  by  the  Rogue  River,  not  far 

from  where   it    breaks    through    the 

Coast  Range  on  its  way  to  the  sea.  This  stream  throughout  its  entire  course  is  sur- 
rounded by  magnificent  firs,  pines,  and  cedars,  which  give  it  the  appearance  of  an 
undulating,  silvery  thread,  stretched  through  a  mass  of  foliage.  Where  it  takes  its 
abrupt  leap  the  forest  is  so  dense  as  to  be  almost  impassable  in  summer,  owing  to 
the  luxuriance  of  the  shrubbery  and  undergrowth,  and  so  dark  and  cool  even  in  the 
warmest  weather  that  one  feels  cold  in  a  short  time,  as  the  place  exhales  a  palpable 


A    GLIMPSE  OF   THE  FAR  NORTHWEST.  137 

humidity.  This  only  adds  to  the  weird  charm  of  the  falls  ;  for  solitude  and  foliage 
but  render  such  scenes  the  more  interesting. 

Looking  upward  from  their  base,  they  are  seen  to  emerge  from  a  very  narrow  open- 
ing between  two  huge  masses  of  dark  crags  ;  but,  ere  they  reach  the  ground,  they 
seem  to  be  divided  into  three  sections  of  foamy  spray,  owing  to  the  interruption  of 
the  line  of  sight  by  the  dense  and  tangled  foliage.  The  best  and  the  only  satisfactory 
view  of  them  that  can  be  obtained  is  about  ten  yards  on  either  side  of  the  front,  as 
the  woods  are  there  more  open.  Their  actual  height  is  estimated  at  two  hundred 
feet  (and  it  certainly  seems  all  that  from  beneath),  and  their  width  at  ten  yards.  Their 
volume  of  water  in  summer  is  not  very  great,  but  during  the  spring  freshets  they 
have  a  depth  at  the  summit  of  ten  feet.  They  are  then  in  their  finest  condition,  and 
the  stream  possesses  such  powerful  velocity  that  it  whirls  heavy  crags  along  its  course 
as  if  they  were  mere  pebbles.  One  of  the  most  interesting  features  about  the  falls  is 
the  luxuriance  of  the  mosses  and  lichens  that  grow  wherever  the  spray  is  showered. 
Their  base  is  surrounded  by  cedars,  junipers,  alders,  and  willows,  which  are  covered 
with  mosses  to  such  an  extent  that  the  trunks  and  branches  are  almost  concealed. 
This,  of  course,  prevents  much  leafage,  so  that  they  present  the  appearance  of  a  forest 
of  gigantic  mosses. 

Desiring  to  avoid  the  spray,  we  tear  away  some  of  the  mossy  covering  from  a  tree, 
and  find  between  it  and  the  trunk  a  capacious  chamber,  large  enough  to  hold  ten 
persons,  and  thoroughly  water-proof.  In  this  snug  retreat  we  have  a  fine  opportunity 
of  studying  the  delightful  scene  before  us.  The  water  in  its  fall  throws  copious 
showers  upon  the  firs,  and  these  produce  a  permanent  rainbow  in  the  forest,  which 
extends  from  the  highest  tree  in  the  vicinity  to  the  lowest  shrubbery.  This  is  a 
charming  effect,  and  most  pleasing  it  seems,  as  the  line  of  foliage  through  which  it 
passes  is  brilliantly  illumined  with  all  the  prismatic  hues. 

Passing  through  the  beautiful  Eogue  River  Valley,  which  seems  like  a  large  copy 
of  the  vale  of  Chamouni,  and  the  romantic  glens  of  the  Umpqua,  which  stand  alone 
in  their  uniqueness  outside  of  Norway,  we  find  ourselves  during  the  course  of  the 
second  day  at  Oregon  City,  perched  on  a  bank  of  the  Willamette  Kiver  where  it  leaps 
into  a  chasm  thirty-six  feet  beneath.  The  falls  are  really  a  series  of  cascades  for  five 
hundred  yards,  and,  where  they  sweep  downward  instead  of  moving  in  a  solid  body  of 
water,  they  break  into  several  falls,  which  vary  in  outline  according  to  the  form  of 
rocks  through  which  they  force  a  passage.  Extending  from  one  bank  of  the  river  to 
the  other,  a  distance  of  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  they  offer  a  grand  view  in  early 
spring  as  they  bear  onward  an  immense  mass  of  water  produced  by  the  melting  snows 
of  the  mountains,  and  this,  through  the  swiftness  of  the  current,  is  hurled  into  the 
chasm  with  such  tremendoiis  force  that  the  spray  is  sent  sailing  upward  to  a  height 
of  many  feet.  The  general  form  is  concave,  or  like  the  inner  side  of  a  horseshoe, 
two  ranges  of  basaltic  crags  forming  the  extreme  bounds  of  the  curve.  In  summer 
rocky  islets  peer  above  the  water  at  the  place  where  it  makes  its  leap  ;  but  in  freshet- 
time  each  one  is  covered  with  a  mass  of  boiling  foam.  So  swift  is  the  current  that 


138 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


it  has  gradually  swept  away  large  islands  once  in  the  river,  and  is  cutting  away  the 
shores  slowly  but  surely. 

These  falls  can  be  approached  either  by  boat  or  rail,  as  they  are  only  fifteen  miles 
from  Portland,  the  capital  of  Oregon.  The  pleasantest  route  is  by  river,  as  charming 
rural  scenes  greet  the  eye  at  every  turn,  and  the  first  view  of  the  falls  from  above 
makes  them  seem  higher  and  whiter  than  they  really  are,  owing  to  the  contrast 
offered  by  the  towering  green  firs  surrounding  them  on  every  side.  Steamers  plying 
on  the  river  pass  around  through  a  canal,  and  in  the  half-hour  of  the  passage  we  have 
ample  time  to  appreciate  the  beauties  of  the  falls  and  to  get  dizzy  with  the  boisterous, 
whirling  motion.  For  the  disciple  of  old  Izaak  Walton,  there  is  an  excellent  chance 


Fall*  of  the  Willamette. 

to  make  war  on  the  finny  tribes  in  the  Willamette  River  during  April  and  May,  for 
then  the  water  is  so  thronged  with  salmon  that  they  almost  crowd  each  other  ashore. 
Thousands  of  fish  are  destroyed  by  launching  themselves  in  the  air  in  their  attempts 
to  scale  the  falls. 

A  few  miles  from  Astoria,  the  oldest  American  town  west  of  the  Rocky  Mountains, 
we  find  Young's  Falls.  We  must  sail  down  the  Columbia  River  about  a  hundred  and 
ten  miles  to  reach  this  point,  leaving  the  steamer  at  Astoria,  and  taking  thence  one 
of  the  pretty  little  yachts  which  always  stand  ready  for  the  tourist's  use.  For  a 
short  distance  we  must  go  on  foot,  too,  as  Young's  River  becomes  too  shallow  for  navi- 


A    GLIMPSE   OF  THE  FAR  NORTHWEST. 


139 


gation.     After  a  foot-journey  through  the  matted  underbrush  of  rose  and  berry  bushes, 
armed  with   myriad  thorns,  which  is  slow  and  tedious,    we  suddenly  emerge  on  this 
charming  water-fall,   bounding  suddenly  from   its  dense   undergrowth  of  bushes  and 
flowers  and  tumbling  down 
into  a  dark  pool  in  a  white 
apron.      It    is   exactly    in 
the  shape  of  a  child's  pin- 
afore, and  is  formed  of  two 
leaps,  the  first  ten  and  the 
next  seventy  feet. 

These  falls  are  rendered 
unusually  interesting  by 
the  number  of  birds  that 
frequent  their  vicinity,  the 
profusion  of  flora,  and  the 
great  height  of  the  firs  that 
environ  them.  Many  of 
these  firs  are  three  hun- 
dred feet  high,  and  from 
ten  to  fifteen  feet  in  diam- 
eter— regular  forest-giants, 
which  are  not  excelled  by 
any  trees  in  the  world  ex- 
cept the  Sequoias  of  Cali- 
fornia. The  first  white 
visitors  to  these  falls  were 
Lewis  and  Clarke,  who  en- 
camped in  their  vicinity 
in  1806,  after  completing 
a  survey  of  the  Columbia 
River  from  its  source  to 
its  mouth.  They  are  now 
frequented  mostly  by  the 

Chinook  Indians,  who  pitch  their  tents  near  them  in  the  berry-season  to  gather  a 
store  of  fruit  for  the  winter.  The  profusion  of  these  berries  is  something  marvelous, 
embracing  many  varieties  unknown  in  the  Atlantic  States. 

Returning  up  the  Columbia  River  as  far  as  Portland,  let  us  take  the  steamer  that 
runs  to  the  Cascades  of  the  Columbia,  some  sixty  miles  distant.  The  trip  up  this 
noble  stream  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  that  can  be  made.  Heavy  forests  of  firs, 
which  extend  to  the  horizon  on  every  side,  greet  the  eyes,  and  are  reflected  in  gigan- 
tic spiral  wreaths  of  foliage  in  the  crystalline  water,  while  far  in  the  distance  loom 
several  snowy  peaks,  with  fleecy  clouds  hovering  about  their  crests.  These,  and  the 


Southern  Side  of  Willamette  Falls. 


140 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


nearer,  rocky,  fir-clad  mountains,  are  also  reflected  with  so  much  fidelity  that  you 
seem  to  be  passing  over  them.  Even  the  sky  is  so  accurately  pictured  that  one  at  first 
view  instinctively  withdraws  from  the  railing  of  the  steamer,  as  if  he  feared  that  he 
would  fall  down  into  the  unfathomable  depths  of  the  clouds.  Several  small  mountains 
of  lonely  and  oddly  shaped  crags,  and  half  a  dozen  water-falls,  add  much  to  the  beauty 

of  the  scenery,  so  that  the  attention  is 
steadily  riveted  but  never  wearied  by  the 
glowing  pictures  that  unfold  themselves 
in  rapid  succession.  The  most  striking 
and  important  of  the  latter  are  Multono- 
mah  Falls,  which  plunge  downward  a  dis- 
tance of  seven  hundred  feet  in  a  ribbon 
of  white ;  but  long  ere  the  waters  reach 
their  craggy  bed,  or  the  heavy  forests  far 
beneath,  they  are  dissolved  into  snowy 
drops  of  spray,  which  are  whirled  in  every 
direction  by  the  lightest  zephyrs.  After 
uniting  below,  they  plow  their  way  in  a 
tortuous  course  through  moss-lined  banks 
and  tangled  gorse  until  they  make  their 
final  leap  into  the  Columbia  in  a  broad 
and  thin  sheet  of  silvery  water.  There 
is  something  exceedingly  lovely  about  this 
miniature  Niagara,  as  it  seems  like  an  en- 
chanted scene,  owing  to  the  vivid  emerald 
hue  of  the  luxuriant  grass,  and  the  densi- 
ty of  the  coppices  of  young  firs  and  cedars 
which  grow  in  wayward  wildness  about  the 
base  of  the  first  fall.  These  make  one  of 
the  most  charming  dells  imaginable ;  one 
so  fairy-like  in  character,  that  a  person 
would  naturally  select  it  as  the  abode  of 
those  weird  and  pleasant  nymphs  of  the 
forest,  the  dryads  and  hamadryads ;  for 
what  more  could  they  require  than  a  love- 
Palmw  Fallt.  ly  spot  which  is  never  disturbed  by  any- 

thing save  the  notes  of  the  wood-thrush 

and  yellow-bird,  or  the  purling  cadence  of  the  falling  water,  while  around,  on  all 
sides,  are  scenes  that  represent  every  variety  of  landscape  beauty  ?  The  popular  local 
name  for  this  cascade  is  Horsetail  Falls,  owing  to  the  supposed  resemblance  which 
the  two  leaps  bear  to  the  equine  appendage. 

Continuing  our  way  up  the   Columbia  River,  a  trip  of   forty  miles  by  boat  and 


A    GLIMPSE   OF  THE  FAR  NORTHWEST.  141 

rail  lands  us  at  the  mouth  of  White  River,  a  mountain-stream  emptying  into  the 
Columbia.  Securing  a  guide  and  horses,  a  ride  of  a  few  hours  brings  our  little  cav- 
alcade to  the  end  of  the  journey.  At  first  it  seems  like  a  waste  of  time  and  energy 
to  have  come  here,  for  nothing  is  to  be  seen  but  a  deep  and  gloomy  precipice,  from 
which  comes  a  brawling  sound.  By  dismounting  and  crawling  down  the  steep  sides 
of  the  great-  gorge,  we  suddenly  find  ourselves  face  to  face  with  the  White  River 
Falls.  These  are  formed  by  three  leaps ;  the  upper  one  about  fifty,  the  second  thirty, 
and  the  third  sixty  feet.  During  the  dry  season  the  upper  falls  dwindle  into  broad 
ribbons,  which  unite  below  and  dash  into  a  round  basin  cut  in  the  rocks ;  thence 
they  bound  into  a  cool,  dark  pool  some  sixty  feet  beneath,  whence  the  water  pours  out 
into  a  rock-encumbered  channel  which  lashes  it  into  boiling  fret  and  fume. 

The  canon  through  which  the  river  dashes  has  sometimes  a  depth  of  a  thousand 
feet,  and,  being  quite  narrow,  produces  such  effects  of  sound  that  the  brawling  water 
at  the  base  is  raised  into  a  sharp  and  steady  roar  at  the  summit.  The  .only  vegeta- 
tion visible  near  the  falls  consists  of  a  few  scrubby  willows,  that  obtain  a  meager  sub- 
sistence on  the  loose,  arid  soil  a  few  yards  beyond  them.  As  there  is  nothing  to  soften 
the  features  of  the  black,  rugged  crags  that  environ  them,  their  pictorial  effect  is  not 
so  great  as  it  otherwise  would  be. 

Continuing  up  the  Columbia,  we  find  a  series  of  cascades,  water-falls,  and  rapids, 
but  none  specially  worthy  of  notice  till  we 'reach  the  Palouse  and  Spokane  Falls.  The 
former  are  unique,  on  account  of  the  strange  character  of  the  rocks  which  surround 
them,  assuming  as  they  do  the  outlines  of  chimneys,  columns  of  all  shapes,  broken 
pinnacles,  and  sharp  needles,  while  the  banks  are  ranged  in  the  form  of  terraces  one 
above  another  to  the  height  of  nearly  two  thousand  feet.  These  falls  are  caused  by 
the  Palouse  River,  nine  miles  from  where  it  mingles  with  the  Snake  River,  the  largest 
tributary  of  the  Columbia.  This  stream  flows  with  great  velocity  through  three  canons, 
but  it  is  the  passage  through  the  second  which  forms  the  falls.  The  canon  is  only 
thirty  feet  wide,  and  out  of  this  the  water  pours  with  an  angry  hiss  and  plunges  down 
one  hundred  and  twenty-five  feet.  Salmon  ascend  as  far  as  these  falls,  and  this  causes 
the  spot  to  be  chosen  by  the  Palouse  Indians  as  a  fishing-ground.  Their  numerous 
canoes  add  much  to  the  pictorial  charm  of  the  scene,  while  the  half-naked  red-men 
with  lances  poised,  or  bringing  from  the  water  the  struggling  salmon,  give  it  a  most 
animated  appearance. 

The  falls  of  the  Spokane  consist  of  two  leaps,  the  first  of  twelve  feet,  the  second 
of  a  hundred.  They  seethe,  roar,  and  boil  for  some  distance  before  making  their  big 
plunge,  and  continue  the  turmoil  for  quite  a  way  after  reaching  the  chasm  which 
receives  them.  This  cascade  is  also  very  picturesque,  and  surrounded  by  rock-ter- 
races rising  many  hundred  feet  above  them.  The  Spokane  fall  completes  the  most 
important  series  of  cascades  along  the  Columbia  and  its  feeders,  though  there  are 
several  more  which  surpass  the  falls  of  Minnehaha  in  height  and  width,  though  not 
in  beauty  of  surroundings. 

It  is  in  West  Washington  Territory  that  we  find  a  noble  cataract  far  surpassing 


142 


OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 


any  of  the  preced- 
celebrated  Snoqual- 
mention  has  been 
ing  pages.  During 
ets  these  falls  have 
feet,  and  fall  two 
enty,  thus  making 
blest  water-falls  of 
These  are  reached 


ing.  Of  this,  the 
mie  Falls,  passing 
made  in  preced- 
the  spring  fresh- 
a  width  of  eighty 
hundred  and  sev- 
them  among  the  no- 
the  United  States, 
by  a  fifty  miles'  ca- 
Snoqualmie  Kiver, 


noeing  trip  up  the 

which  has  its  outlet  in  Puget  Sound,  the  journey  taking  three  days.  Mr.  Murphy,  a 
traveler,  who  wrote  an  account  of  this  fine  cataract  in  an  article  contributed  to 
"Appletons'  Journal,"  gives  a  graphic  description  of  his  visit : 

"  By  noon  of  the  third  day  we  came  to  a  series  of  boisterous,  foaming  eddies, 
that  extended  over  a  distance  of  seven  miles,  and  to  pass  these  we  had  to  ply  pole 
and  paddles  with  the  utmost  vigor.  By  making  herculean  efforts,  we  managed  to 
crawl  over  them  in  eight  hours ;  but,  once  past,  we  had  tranquil  waters  until  we 
came  within  hearing  of  the  deep  roar  of  the  falls,  which  were  now  two  miles  distant. 
The  large  space  over  which  they  can  be  heard  is  due  to  the  acoustic  properties  of  the 
surrounding  woods,  and  the  echoes  of  the  low,  rocky  hills  beyond  them.  The  res- 
onance of  these  forests  is  something  marvelous,  and  on  first  acquaintance  rather 
startling,  as  an  ordinary  tone  of  conversation  is  heard  several  yards  away,  a  laugh 
rings  in  vibratory  undulations  for  a  distance  of  at  least  an  eighth  of  a  mile,  while 
the  scream  of  the  wild-cat  is  audible  a  mile  off.  It  is  this  echoing  characteristic  of 
trees  that  causes  the  falls  flowing  through  wooded  regions  to  be  heard  over  such  a 
large  area  as  they  are  ;  so  we  find  that  the  Snoqualmie  Falls,  with  only  a  tithe  of 
the  volume  of  Niagara,  are  heard  many  times  the  distance  the  latter  are. 

"  Having  found  all  further  progress  by  water  checked  by  masses  of  trap-rock  which 


A    GLIMPSE   OF  THE  FAR  NORTHWEST.  143 

were  hurled  together  in  the  wildest  confusion,  we  pushed  our  canoe  ashore  and  made 
a  comfortable  encampment  of  boughs  for  ourselves  under  the  umbrageous  shelter  of  a 
spreading  spruce  that  must  have  seen  several  centuries  of  life.  Having  prepared  sup- 
per, and  partaken  of  it  with  the  keen  relish  peculiar  to  those  who  have  labored  hard, 
my  guides  led  me  through  a  forest  so  dense  that  it  only  permitted  a  few  straggling 
rays  of  the  moon  to  pierce  its  inky  blackness  in  a  few  places.  Our  passage  through 
it  proved  to  be  an  exceedingly  difficult  one,  as  the  shrubbery,  matted  as  usual,  tripped 
us  quite  frequently,  and  sent  us  sprawling  on  all-fours  into  apparently  unfathomable 
masses  of  briers,  while  the  tall  and  elastic  undergrowth  lashed  our  faces  with  incisive 
vigor.  It  took  us  two  hours  to  reach  the  falls,  as  we  were  compelled  to  make  many 
windings,  and  our  only  guide  was  their  vibratory  thundering.  When  I  reached  them, 
however,  my  fatigue  disappeared  immediately,  for  my  surprise  was  as  great  as  it  was 
pleasing.  I  had  expected  much,  but  such  a  towering  height,  such  rude  grandeur, 
such  a  volume  of  water,  and  such  weird  beauty,  I  was  not  prepared  to  encounter  in 
this  wild  retreat.  The  scene  was  actually  sublime  and  bewildering  in  its  variety. 
The  water  poured  out  of  a  deep  canon  in  a  convex  body  of  seething  foam,  and  fell 
on  the  black,  shattered  crags  below  in  a  yellowish-white  mass  of  glinting  globules. 
After  gazing  at  the  magnificent  picture,  with  its  strong  effects  of  light  and  shade, 
for  half  an  hour,  I  returned  to  camp,  and,  throwing  myself  on  the  ground  beside  the 
bright  fire,  listened  in  silence  for  some  time  to  the  rumbling  music  that  rolled  toward 
me  in  heavy  volumes.  Being  struck  by  the  wildness  of  the  picture,  I  asked  my 
swarthy  guides  to  move  some  distance  into  the  woods,  and  chant  the  death-song  of 
their  tribe,  that  I  might  make  a  comparison  of  melodies  characterized  by  simplicity 
and  primitiveness,  and  the  opposite  of  each  other  in  color  and  expression.  They 
promptly  complied  with  my  request,  and  in  a  few  moments  from  out  the  plutonian 
depths  of  the  forest  issued  their  low,  wailing  song  of  sorrow.  As  this  mingled  with 
the  ponderous  monotone  of  the  falls,  the  effect  was  intensely  striking.  After  singing 
for  half  an  hour  in  a  deep,  Gregorian  tone,  which  harmonized  well  with  the  scene 
and  the  wild  and  massive  melody  of  Nature,  they  returned  to  camp,  and  a  few 
minutes  later  were  rolled  in  their  blankets  and  deep  in  the  land  of  Somnus.  I  was 
so  impressed  with  my  surroundings  that  it  was  far  past  midnight  ere  I  fell  into  a 
restless  slumber,  and  then  only  to  dream  of  strange  and  impossible  water-falls  and 
stranger  music. 

"We  were  astir  before  dawn  the  next  morning,  and,  after  breakfast,  again  visited 
the  scene  of  the  previous  evening.  I  found  that  it  seemed,  if  possible,  more  interest- 
ing, as  every  feature  was  clearly  prominent ;  yet  the  misty  haze  of  the  night,  which 
threw  some  portions  into  shadow,  and  thus  rendered  them  more  weird  in  appearance, 
was  missed." 

The  grandest  exhibition  of  Nature  in  the  Northwest,  in  the  way  of  water-falls,  is 
found  in  the  Shoshone  Falls  of  Idaho,  for  their  volume,  the  highest  on  the  continent. 
Though  inferior  to  Niagara  in  massiveness,  they  excel  it  in  altitude  some  seventy 
feet,  two  hundred  and  thirty  feet  being  the  estimated  height.  The  falls  can  be 


144  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

reached  from  the  east,  over  the  Central  Pacific  Railway ;  from  the  west,  by  stage-ride 
from  Portland,  Oregon,  which  takes  six  days.  Some  might  consider  it  a  waste  of 
time  and  energy  to  visit  this  grand  spot,  for  it  involves  much  fatigue  and  trouble ; 
but,  once  attained,  it  repays  any  effort,  for  we  may  congratulate  ourselves  that,  having 
seen  it  and  Niagara,  we  have  feasted  on  all  the  forms  of  wonderful  beauty  and  sub- 
limity which  cataracts  can  present. 

Approaching  by  the  western  route,  we  quit  the  stage  at  Rock  Creek  Station,  com- 
posed of  one  log-cabin,  where  the  passengers  dine  and  the  horses  are  changed. 
Through  the  kindness  of  the  agent  of  the  stage  company,  we  are  here  furnished  with 
mustang  ponies,  on  which  we  are  to  ride  to  the  caflon  of  the  Snake  or  Shoshone 
River,  where,  at  Springtown,  a  small  and  squalid  mining  hamlet,  we  secure  a  guide 
to  the  famous  falls. 

After  a  ride  of  three  miles  our  guide  promises  to  show  us  what  he  calls  the 
prettiest  falls  in  the  world,  a  place  entirely  unknown  and  unvisited.  We  strike  an 
Indian  trail,  which  winds  down  bluff  after  bluff,  till  it  reaches  what  is  called  the 
Park,  on  the  bank  of  the  river.  Opposite  this,  in  the  middle  of  the  stream,  is  a 
small  island,  covered  with  scrubby  underbrush,  and  on  both  sides  of  it  the  river  hurls 
itself  over  a  precipice  about  a  hundred  and  ten  feet  high.  By  carefully  crawling 
over  a  shelf  of  loose  stones  and  lying  on  the  stomach,  we  are  enabled  to  get  a  fine 
view  of  these  picturesque  falls.  On  the  farther  side  the  water  flows  in  a  broad  white 
sheet ;  on  the  near  side  it  is  confined  within  a  convex  mass — both  of  them  spanned 
with  splendid  rainbows. 

This  only  sharpens  our  desire  to  see  the  Grand  Falls,  whose  hoarse  thunder  can  be 
heard  far  away  reverberating  in  the  deep  canons.  Having  reached  the  upper  plateau 
again,  a  two  miles'  hard  gallop  brings  us  very  near  the  object  of  our  ride,  for  the 
back  of  a  mustang  pony,  when  going  at  speed,  in  an  instrument  of  torture  than 
which  the  Inquisition  had  nothing  more  dreadful. 

Looking  down  from  our  elevated  terrace  we  can  get  a  glimpse  of  the  outline  of 
the  falls,  and  around  them  all  the  elements  of  a  beautiful  landscape — an  undulating 
park  decked  with  beautiful  flowers  and  rich  green  grass,  a  placid  river,  and  towering 
terraces  of  bright-colored  crags.  Dismounting,  and  leading  our  horses  down  the 
bluffs,  we  reach  the  lovely  little  park  skirting  the  river,  where  the  grass  stands  knee- 
deep,  and  gaudy  flowers  are  spread  like  a  carpet. 

Lookout  Point  juts  over  the  bank  directly  where  the  river  plunges  downward  only 
four  feet  below  our  standing-ground.  Glancing  up  the  stream,  we  see  its  course  for 
half  a  mile,  a  mass  of  hissing  rapids  and  small  cataracts,  dotted  with  bold  crags  rising 
out  of  the  bed  of  the  stream,  and  with  small  islets  all  a-bloom  with  flowers.  There 
are  eight  falls  in  a  distance  of  two  hundred  yards,  which  are  from  six  to  twenty  feet 
in  height,  all  different  in  outline.  Close  to  the  shore  the  water  makes  deep  canals  of 
bubbling  cascades  through  the  rocks,  and  their  gentleness  contrasts  with  the  turbu- 
lence which  adjoins  them.  As  these  diverging  bodies  of  water  approach  the  precipice, 
they  swing  together  to  make  the  Grand  Falls,  which  are  only  excelled  by  the  falls  of 


A    GLIMPSE   OF  THE  FAR  NORTHWEST. 


145 


the  Missouri  and  Niagara  in  volume,  while  they  are  superior  in  height,  in  diversity  of 
form,  and  in  beauty  of  surroundings.  Massive  in  power,  and  vigorous  in  action ; 
warm  in  color,  yet  environed  by  gloom  ;  picturesque  in  immediate  background,  yet 
surrounded  by  savage  grandeur — they  possess  all  the  elements  that  make  such  scenes 
attractive  to  the  lover  of  the  beautiful.  Their  very  situation  in  the  midst  of  a  deso- 
late plain,  and  hemmed  in  by  cafions  whose  dreary  depths  are  unvisited  by  the  sunlight 
for  many  months  in  the  year,  adds  to  their  interest  and  enhances  their  splendor.  They 
have  a  width  of  three  hundred  yards  by  following  the  curve  of  their  outline,  but  in  a 


Shoehone  Falls,  Snake  River. 

straight  .line  they  will  not  much  exceed  two  hundred.  They  are  of  an  irregular  con- 
cave shape,  somewhat  like  a  reversed  crescent ;  but  during  the  spring  freshets  they 
assume  a  convex  form,  owing  to  the  increased  volume  and  swiftness  of  the  water. 
The  pretty  park,  with  its  luxuriant  grasses,  flowers,  and  coppices  of  junipers,  gives  a 
softness  and  color  to  the  falls  that  are  delightful  to  the  eye,  as  they  impart  the 
picturesque  element  so  much  needed  ;  but  on  the  opposite  side  the  dark  and  lofty 
terraces  of  trap  loom  up  against  the  sky  in  black  masses,  and  convey  the  most  strik- 
ing idea  of  gloom  and  wildness.  It  is  from  the  base,  however,  that  one  appreciates 

the  grandeur  of  a  cataract  best,  and  by  a  somewhat  perilous  scramble  down  the  steep 

10 


146 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


crags  we  finally  work  our  way  to  the  bottom.  Every  step  must  be  watched,  for  a 
slight  mischance  will  plunge  us  into  the  boiling  caldron  below.  At  last,  by  clamber- 
ing over  rough  bowlders,  springing  over  fallen  trees,  making  bridges  of  slippery  trunks 
covered  with  wet  moss,  stumbling  through  dense  underbrush,  we  get  within  forty  feet 
of  the  cataract,  where  further  advance  would  be  death.  Here  the  overpowering  scene 

fills  the  heart  and  mind  with 
its  grandeur.  The  water,  in 
sweeping  waves  of  white  and 
with  a  sound  like  that  of  a 
thousand  great  mills  in  mo- 
tion, thunders  steadily  down- 
ward, and  splendid  rainbows 
span  the  falls  and  river ;  while 
showers  of  vapory  spray  rise 
languidly  to  a  height  of  three 
hundred  feet,  then  lazily  float 
away  in  dark  clouds. 

The  Snake  River  boasts  of 
several  other  smaller  cataracts, 
the  most  important  being  the 
American  Falls,  some  thirty 
feet  high  ;  but  a  few  of  its 
tributaries  display  the  most 
unusual  varieties  to  be  found, 
perhaps,  in  the  world.  Some 
of  these  plunge  down  into  the 
earth  a  distance  of  two  hun- 
dred feet  through  irregular, 

Mand  Folk,  Swlc*  Kiver.  rocky    caveg;     and)     contjnuing 

their  way  under -ground  for 

several  miles,  come  again  to  the  surface  in  the  form  of  a  boisterous  river  only  to 
renew  the  leap.  The  most  important  of  these  are  Lost  Falls,  some  thirty  or  forty 
miles  from  Shoshone  Falls. 

To  reach  the  next  great  falls  we  must  betake  ourselves  to  the  Yellowstone  Park  in 
Montana,  whose  combined  wonders  make  it  perhaps  unequaled  in  the  world,  and  which 
will  hereafter  be  made  the  theme  of  a  separate  article. 

From  this  region  to  find  any  other  leaping  water  of  importance  we  must  make  a 
long  journey  to  the  Sioux  River,  which  divides  Iowa  and  Dakota.  Opposite  Sioux 
City  the  river  dashes  over  a  ledge  of  bowlders  in  several  streams  and  falls  a  hundred 
feet  into  a  rock-bound  cavity  filled  with  foaming  whirlpools  that  seethe  and  struggle 
to  escape  from  their  prison.  These  picturesque  falls  have  also  interesting  surround- 
ings of  rocks  shaped  in  very  curious  forms.  In  the  time  of  the  spring  freshets  these 


A    GLIMPSE   OF  THE  FAR  NORTHWEST.  147 

falls  are  very  striking,  though  far  less  grand  than  some  which  have  been  recently 
noticed.  They  are  always  spanned  with  rainbows,  and  the  crags  through  which  they 
pour  have  been  carved  into  the  most  unique  forms,  while  in  the  background  are  other 
queer  and  suggestive  rock-shapes.  These  fantastic  images  and  a  pleasant  landscape 
add  no  little  to  the  attractive  ensemble  of  the  cascade. 

The  last  but  not  the  least  of  the  water-falls  of  the  Northwest  worthy  of  description 
are  those  of  the  Missouri,  about  five  hundred  and  fifty  miles  from  its  source.  These 
falls  are  in  reality  a  series  of  cascades,  as  their  declivity  in  a  distance  of  little  over 
sixteen  miles  is  three  hundred  and  fifty  feet.  This  extent  of  river  is  one  mass  of 
fierce  rapids,  which  boil  and  roar  with  the  greatest  fury  at  all  seasons  of  the  year. 
There  are  four  cataracts  in  the  distance,  the  first  twenty-six,  the  second  forty-seven, 
the  third  nineteen,  and  the  last  eighty  feet  in  height.  The  latter,  known  as  the 
Great  Falls,  as  they  extend  the  full  width  of  the  river,  receive  the  waters  of  all  the 
tributaries  of  the  river  to  the  north.  They  are  next  to  Niagara  in  volume,  and  sur- 
pass it  during  the  spring  freshets.  They  are  then  grand,  even  terrible.  They  resem- 
ble a  fierce  and  mighty  sea  let  loose  rather  than  a  shallow  river,  and  even  solid  crags 
can  not  stand  their  force.  They  have  a  savage  grandeur  that  inspires  awe  ;  and  this 
effect  is  heightened  by  the  steep  bluffs  that  surround  them.  They  have  none  of  the 
qualities  of  a  charming  picture ;  all  is  fierce  action  and  untamable  wildness.  -They 
possess  majesty,  power,  and  strength,  that  convey  the  most  complete  idea  of  the  might 
of  force,  but  they  lack  variety  of  outline  and  pleasing  surroundings  to  lighten  the 
dreary  landscape  that  environs  them.  They  display  a  harshness  that  becomes  dull 
after  a  short  time,  for  their  impetuous  action  and  dazzling  hue  can  hardly  make 
amends  for  the  flatness,  tameness,  and  want  of  color,  of  their  immediate  background. 
Were  they  fringed  by  a  forest,  or  even  a  coppice  or  dell,  their  pictorial  effect  would  be 
increased  immensely. 


A  wonderland  ot'tlie  West— Interesting  traditions  and 
adventures — The  journey  into  the  valley — Mam- 
moth Hot  Springs  and  Mud  Springs — The  Mud- 
Volcano — The  Falls  and  Grand  Canon — Wonders 
of  the  Fire-Hole  River — The  Lower  Geyser  Ba- 
sin— The  great  attraction  of  the  Yellowstone  Park 
— The  geysers  of  the  Upper  Basin — The  Giant  and 
Giantess — Theory  of  geyser  eruptions — The  Yel- 
lowstone Lake. 

THE  wonderland  of  Nature,  of  which 
our  country  presents  so  many  grand  ex- 
amples, offers  nowhere  greater  attrac- 
tions than  in  the  valley  of  the  Yellow- 
stone River.  This  has  already  become 
a  Mecca  to  which  the  lovers  of  science, 
adventure,  and  travel  have  begun  to 
throng  in  large  numbers,  and  to  which 
in  future  years  pleasure-seekers  will  more 

and  more  tend  as  the  means  of  approach  become  more  easy.  Time  was,  not  long  ago, 
when  the  marvels  and  beauties  of  the  Yellowstone  could  only  be  seen  at  the  danger 
of  one's  scalp,  for  the  country  was  scoured  in  every  direction  by  hostile  Indians  on 
the  outlook  for  spoil  and  murder.  This  peril  has  now  practically  ceased,  but  the 
journey  continues  to  be  surrounded  by  considerable  hardship.  While  this  adds  no 
little  flavor  to  the  trip  for  those  who  enjoy  a  rough  and  adventurous  life,  the  major- 
ity of  tourists,  whose  imaginations  may  have  been  stirred  by  stories  of  this  interesting 
region,  will  probably  wait  till  the  advent  of  a  railway  before  they  gratify  their  curiosity. 


The  Yellowstone  River. 


THE   YELLOWSTONE    VALLEY. 


149 


The  Yellowstone  River,  which  has  a  long,  winding  pathway  of  thirteen  hundred 
miles  before  it  loses  its  waters  in  the  bosom  of  the  Missouri,  has  its  source  in  a  noble 
lake  situated  in  Wyoming  Territory  among  the  snowy  peaks  of  the  highest  mountains 
of  the  country.  The  upper  track  of  the  river  is  through  magnificent  canons  and 
gorges,  and  many  striking  water-falls  and  rapids  diversify  its  flow.  The  scenery  pre- 
sented at  various  points  of  its  course  may  be  justly  called  very  remarkable,  and  worthy 


Map  of  the  Yellowstone  National  Park. 


150  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

to  be  compared  with  any  found  in  the  country.  The  entire  region  about  the  source 
is  volcanic,  abounding  in  boiling  springs,  mud-volcanoes,  soda-springs,  sulphur-mount- 
ains, and  geysers,  the  wonders  of  which  surpass  those  of  Iceland. 

This  curious  region,  which  has  been  set  apart  by  Congress  as,  a  National  Park,  pos- 
sesses, indeed,  striking  characteristics  for  the  uses  to  which  it  has  been  devoted.  It 
exhibits  the  grand  and  magnificent  in  its  snow-clad  mountains  and  dark  canons,  the 
picturesque  in  its  fine  water-falls  and  strangely  formed  rocks,  the  beautiful  in  the 
charming  woodland  shores  of  its  noble  lakes,  and  the  marvelous  in  its  geysers,  hot 
springs,  and  sulphur-mountains.  It  is  not  an  exaggeration,  perhaps,  to  say  that  no 
other  portion  of  the  known  globe  unites  so  many  surprising  features,  so  many  condi- 
tions of  beauty  and  contrast  to  delight  the  artist,  so  many  strange  aspects  to  fascinate 
and  instruct  the  student  of  science.  We  are  told  in  one  of  the  legends  of  the  "Ara- 
bian Nights"  of  a  miraculous  valley  concealed  amid  impassable  mountains,  where 
Nature  had  lavished  her  most  splendid  works,  and  monstrous  animals  roamed  such  as 
could  be  found  nowhere  else  in  the  world.  We  may  also  fancy  the  Yellowstone  Val- 
ley a  similar  home  of  giant  animals  of  now  unknown  forms,  for  as  a  grave-yard  of 
extinct  races  it  presents  the  most  striking  aspects.  When  first  discovered  there  were 
found  thickly  scattered  over  its  surface  piles  of  huge  bones  which  belonged  to  those 
monsters  that  roamed  the  world  in  early  geological  periods ;  and  these  scientific  treas- 
ures, though  now  gathe'red  up  from  their  more  exposed  tombs,  still  exist  in  great 
quantities,  buried  not  far  down  in  the  earth.  The  whole  region  seems  to  have  been 
once  a  highly  favored  haunt  for  walking  wonders  of  beast-life,  compared  with  which 
the  elephant  and  rhinoceros  are  small  and  trivial. 

Though  these  old  and  terrible  inhabitants  have  long  since  ceased  to  be,  except  as 
curiosities  in  Nature's  lumber-room,  the  strange  region  through  which  they  tramped 
and  sought  their  prey  still  remains  in  all  its  primitive  wonder. 

This  grand  domain,  extending  nearly  sixty-five  miles  from  north  to  south  and  fifty- 
five  from  east  to  west,  is  in  the  northwestern  corner  of  Wyoming  Territory,  and 
extends  a  few  miles  across  the  border  into  Montana.  Lewis  and  Clarke,  the  earliest 
Western  explorers,  seem  to  have  known  nothing  of  this  region,  save  of  the  great  lake, 
of  which  they  had  probably  been  informed  by  the  Indians.  The  famous  trapper, 
guide,  and  mountaineer,  Jim  Bridger,  claimed  to  have  visited  this  region,  and  from 
his  rude  descriptions  grew  the  early  stories  about  the  supposed  enchanted  land. 

Rumors  circulated  among  the  simple-minded  mountaineers  and  early  prospectors 
for  gold,  whose  imaginations  were  credulous  and  active,  of  an  El  Dorado,  like  that 
marvelous  land  which  stirred  the  fancies  of  the  early  Spanish  conquerors.  There  were 
treasures  and  golden  cities,  trees  of  solid  stone,  splendid  palaces  and  temples,  lordly 
castles,  and  glittering  spires.  It  was  believed  by  many  superstitious  frontiersmen  that 
all  of  the  inhabitants  had  been  punished  for  some  mortal  sin  by  being  turned  into 
stone,  and  that  these  grim  sentinels  might  still  be  seen  standing  as  perpetual  remind- 
ers of  supernatural  vengeance.  Strangely  wrought  and  colored  specimens,  brought 
down  from  these  enchanted  regions  by  some  adventurous  explorer,  were  believed  to  be 


THE   YELLOWSTONE    VALLEY. 


151 


a  part  of  the  war-implements  of  this 
mysterious  but  doomed  race.  There 
were  glowing  stories  of  diamonds  and 
gold  existing  in  inexhaustible  quanti- 
ties ;  while  rumors  of  burning  plains, 
smoking  furnaces,  boiling  caldrons, 
roaring  springs  of  steam  and  hot 
water,  earthquakes  and  volcanoes, 
excited  the  fear  and  awe  of  the  red- 
men  and  white  hunters,  alike  super- 
stitious and  believing  that  the  re- 
gion was  under  the  guardianship  of 
evil  spirits. 

When  the  immense  tide  of  gold- 
seekers  poured  into  Montana,  there 
came  a  strong  desire  to  explore  this 
mystic  region,  for  the  rumors,  how- 
ever mythical,  could  not  be  regard- 
ed as  altogether  without  some  basis. 
An  exploring  party,  under  Captain 

Reynolds,  of  the  United  States  Army,  tried  to  enter  the  Yellowstone  Basin  in 
by  way  of  the  Wind  River  Mountains  from  the  south,  but  failed  on  account 


Cliffs  of  the  Yellowstone. 


1859, 
of  the 


152  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

rugged  route  and  the  depth  of  the  snow.  In  1870  an  exploring  party  under  General 
Washburn,  escorted  by  Lieutenant  Doane,  succeeded  in  entering  the  valley,  and  from 
this  source  came  the  first  reliable  accounts  of  the  strange  land.  Then,  in  1871,  Pro- 
fessor Hayden,  the  United  States  Geologist,  with  a  party  under  Lieutenant  Barlow,  of 
the  United  States  Engineers,  ascended  the  Yellowstone  and  traversed  nearly  the  whole 
region  now  included  in  the  park.  It  was  discovered  by  these  exploring  parties  that, 
wonderful  as  the  Yellowstone  region  was,  it  was  yet  unfit  for  mining  or  agricultural 
purposes ;  so  it  was  organized  by  Congress  as  a  national  pleasure-park. 

The  Yellowstone  Lake  lies  near  the  southeasterly  corner  of  the  park,  the  river 
flowing  from  its  upper  boundary  and  running  almost  due  north.  The  lake  is  twenty- 
two  miles  in  length,  and  from  ten  to  fifteen  miles  wide.  It  is  seven  thousand  feet 
above  the  sea,  and  its  basin  is  surrounded  by  mountains  reaching  a  height  of  over  ten 
thousand  feet,  the  peaks  of  which  are  covered  by  perpetual  snow.  Along  the  shore  of 
the  lake  and  of  the  river  are  found  numerous  hot  springs.  About  fifteen  miles  from 
its  source  in  the  lake  the  river  takes  two  precipitous  leaps  known  as  the  upper  and 
lower  falls,  and  beyond  cuts  its  way  through  a  great  canon,  the  walls  of  which  are  in 
some  places  fifteen  hundred  feet  in  vertical  height.  Near  the  western  boundary  of  the 
park,  the  Madison,  an  important  tributary  of  the  Columbia,  takes  its  rise,  and  along 
one  of  the  branches  of  this  river,  known  as  Firehole  Eiver,  are  found  extraordinary 
geysers,  some  of  which  throw  volumes  of  boiling  water  two  hundred  feet  high.  In 
the  southwestern  corner  of  the  park,  the  Gallatin,  another  tributary  of  the  Columbia, 
has  its  beginning. 

In  our  journey  to  visit  the  wonderful  Yellowstone  Park,  let  us  enter  from  the 
pretty  and  enterprising  town  of  Bozeman,  which  is  in  the  southern  part  of  Montana 
Territory  on  the  borders  of  the  reservation  of  the  Crow  Indians.  The  advance  of 
civilization  in  this  region  was  moistened  by  the  blood  of  many  of  the  early  settlers 
and  immigrants.  Perhaps  few  portions  of  the  far  West  have  been  more  tragically 
marked  by  Indian  massacres.  The  town  of  Bozeman  was  founded  in  1863  by  a  brave 
adventurer  of  that  name  from  the  South,  who  led  the  first  gold-hunting  expedition  to 
the  Gallatin  Valley  and  located  the  town  between  the  east  and  west  forks  of  the  Gal- 
latin Eiver.  He  met  his  fate  in  the  usual  tragedy  which  ended  the  careers  of  so 
many  of  the  early  pioneers.  A  friend  of  his,  who  was  obliged  to  go  up  the  Yellow- 
stone to  Fort  Smith  on  business,  insisted  on  Bozeman  accompanying  him ;  for  it  was  a 
dangerous  route,  and  the  presence  of  so  bold  an  Indian  fighter  was  a  promise  of 
greater  safety.  Bozeman  at  first  refused,  but  was  at  last  persuaded,  and  on  departing 
he  said  to  his  friends  that  he  should  never  return,  as  he  appeared  to  have  a  presenti- 
ment of  his  fate.  The  two  proceeded  on  their  perilous  journey  in  safety  for  about 
eighty  miles,  when  one  day,  as  they  were  eating  their  dinner,  they  saw  a  party  of 
Indians  approaching,  whom  they  supposed  to  be  friendly.  They  soon  discovered  their 
mistake,  and  Bozeman's  companion  fled,  leaving  the  other  to  fight  his  way  out  alone. 
The  gallant  mountaineer,  after  making  a  desperate  resistance,  was  overpowered  and 
put  to  death  with  many  tortures. 


THE   YELLOWSTONE   VALLEY.  153 

About  two  years  before  this,  and  at  almost  the  very  spot  where  the  gallant  Boze- 
man  fell,  a  thrilling  episode  occurred,  which  shows  the  dangers  of  that  early  period, 
and  illustrates  the  heroism  so  often  brought  out  by  these  perils.  In  the  spring  of 
1866  a  party  of  twenty  persons,  including  two  women  and  five  children,  were  descend- 
ing the  Yellowstone  in  a  boat,  on  their  way  back  to  civilization.  They  were  attacked 
by  a  large  band  of  Sioux  Indians,  and,  after  several  of  the  party  were  killed,  the  rest 
abandoned  the  boat  with  what  they  could  carry  and  fled  toward  the  settlements. 
They  suffered  everything  on  their  route,  pinch  ingly  cold  weather,  heavy  snow,  and 
constant  attacks  from  the  Indians.  Half  clad,  with  but  little  to  eat,  they  struggled 
on  in  their  terrible  journey  till  they  were  almost  given  over  to  despair.  Eight  wretched 
days  and  nights  had  passed,  when  several  of  the  men  proposed  to  abandon  the  women 
and  children.  Our  brave  mountaineer  started  up  in  fierce  rage  at  this  craven  proposal, 
and  swore  that,  though  all  the  rest  deserted  the  helpless  ones  of  the  party,  he  would 
die  with  them,  saying  that  he  never  could  tell  his  wife  and  children  that  he  had  left 
two  poor  women  and  their  babes  to  perish  in  the  wilderness.  This  gallant  fellow 
shamed  the  others  into  courage,  and  was  made  the  leader  of  the  troupe.  By  his  hero- 
ism and  watchfulness  he  finally  guided,  the  party  into  safety.  Such  courageous  gen- 
erosity as  this  has  been  frequent  in  the  annals  of  the  border,  and  relieves  the  rough- 
ness and  brutality  of  frontier  life  with  noble  deeds  that  shine  like  stars  on  a  dark 
night. 

The  valley  which  stretches  along  the  Yellowstone  for  many  miles  from  the  town 
of  Bozeman  is  very  fertile  and  beautiful.  The  climate  is  humid  and  mild,  and  the 
country  is  eminently  calculated  to  attract  the  settler.  The  Yellowstone,  above  the 
mouth  of  Powder  Eiver,  sweeps  in  long  and  majestic  stretches,  and  the  bosom  of  the 
river  is  studded  with  hundreds  of  islets,  many  of  them  so  rich  and  verdant  as  to  look 
like  the  lawn  of  a  well-kept  country-house.  On  the  east  side  of  the  river  is  the  res- 
ervation of  the  Crow  nation,  embracing  an  area  of  more  than  six  million  acres, 
abounding  in  rich  mineral  lands,  pasture-grounds,  and  fertile  valleys.  Little  parties 
of  Indians  may  be  seen  nearly  every  mile  of  the  route  into  the  National  Park,  camped 
out  for  hunting  or  fishing  purposes,  their  tepees  forming  quite  a  picturesque  feature 
of  the  view  as  we  ride  along  toward  the  wonderland  which  is  before  us.  The  Crows 
have  been  friendly  to  the  whites  since  1865 — not,  perhaps,  because  they  love  the  pale- 
faces any  too  well,  but  because  their  mortal  and  hereditary  foes,  the  Sioux  and  Ara- 
pahoes,  have  been  intractably  hostile  to  the  white  man.  The  Crows  have  furnished 
more  daring  guides  and  scouts  to  the  United  States  Army  than  any  other  Indian  peo- 
ple, and  have  always  shown  themselves  trusty  warriors  in  operating  with  their  white 
allies. 

About  forty  miles  of  horseback  -  riding,  partly  up  the  river -bank,  partly  through 
rugged,  gloomy  canons,  after  leaving  the  Crow  agency,  which  is  nearly  opposite 
Bozeman,  brings  us,  weary  and  hungry,  to  the  borders  of  the  great  National  Park. 
After  a  night's  rest  at  a  humble  ranch,  where  simple  but  hearty  food  is  served  by 
the  owner  of  the  cabin  with  unbounded  hospitality,  we  again  mount  our  horses  and 


154 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


press  forward,  and  in  a  few  hours  reach  the  Mammoth  Hot  Springs,  as  they  are  gen- 
erally known,  though  Professor  Hayden  gave  them  the  title  of  the  White  Mountain 
Hot  Springs.  Before  any  report  had  been  made  on  this  region,  and  Congress  had  set 
it  apart  as  a  national  park,  two  young  adventurers  from  Bozeman,  anticipating  the 
value  of  the  springs  as  a  place  of  resort  for  pleasure-seekers  and  invalids,  had  taken 
possession  of  them.  But  any  squatter-right  of  ownership  thus  obtained  was,  we  be- 


Mammoth  Hot  Springs. 


lieve,  abrogated  by  the  action  of  the  Government.  We  must  be  contented  with  the 
tent  or  bivouac  during  our  stay  in  the  Yellowstone  Basin,  for  there  are  as  yet  no 
accommodations  for  the  tourist,  though  the  time  will  doubtless  come  when  large  and 
roomy  caravansaries  will  offer  their  hospitable  shelter  and  refreshment  to  the  weary 
traveler. 

Before  describing  the  wonderful  Hot  Springs,  a  few  words  concerning  the  Yellow- 


THE   YELLOWSTONE    VALLEY.  155 

stone  Basin  will  not  be  amiss.  The  basin  proper,  in  which  the  greater  number  of 
interesting  scenery  and  wonders,  which  give  charm  to  this  imperial  pleasure-ground, 
occur,  is  inclosed  within  the  remarkable  ranges  of  mountains  which  give  origin  to  the 
waters  of  the  Yellowstone  south  of  Mount  Washburn  and  the  Grand  Canon.  The 
range  of  which  Mount  Washburn  is  a  conspicuous  peak  sethns  to  form  the  northern 
wall  or  river,  extending  nearly  east  and  west  across  the  Yellowstone,  and  it  is  through 
this  portion  of  the  range  that  the  river  has  cut  its  way,  forming  the  remarkable  falls 
and  still  more  remarkable  canon.  The  area  of  the  basin  is  about  forty  miles  in 
length.  A  bird's-eye  view  of  the  whole  basin,  with  the  mountains  surrounding  it  on 
every  side,  without  an  apparent  break,  may  be  had  from  the  summit  of  Mount  Wash- 
burn.  The  entire  basin  may  be  regarded  as  the  vast  crater  of  an  extinct  volcano.  In 
this  great  crater  it  is  probable  there  were  thousands  of  smaller  vents,  at  the  time 
when  volcanic  action  was  at  its  highest  activity,  out  of  which  lava,  fragments  of  rock, 
and  volcanic  dust  were  poured  in  enormous  quantities.  Hundreds  of  the  cones  of  these 
dead  vents  still  remain,  some  of  them  rising  to  a  height  of  ten  or  eleven  thousand 
feet  above  the  sea-level.  Mounts  Doane,  Langford,  Stevenson,  and  more  than  a  hun- 
dred other  peaks,  may  be  seen  from  any  high  point  on  either  side  of  the  basin,  each 
of  which  was  a  center  of  volcanic  action.  The  hot  springs  and  geysers  of  the  region 
are  merely  the  closing  stages  of  that  wonderful  period  of  volcanic  activity  which  must 
have  made  this  region  once  so  terrible.  Probably  the  time  will  come  when  these 
escape-valves  will  cease  altogether  to  show  any  action.  In  the  case  of  the  Iceland 
geysers  and  hot  springs,  many  of  them  have  entirely  subsided  within  the  last  three 
hundred  years. 

The  Mammoth  Hot  Springs  constitute  a  mountain  of  white  and  yellowish  deposit, 
made  from  the  mineral  solutions  contained  in  the  immense  volumes  of  water  gurgling 
up  from  scores  of  boiling  fountains.  The  first  impression  is  that  of  a  snowy  mount- 
ain beautifully  terraced,  and  on  these  terraces  appear  to  be  frozen  cascades,  as  if 
the  foaming  waves  in  their  rapid  descent  down  the  steep  declivity  had  been  suddenly 
arrested  by  the  iron  hand  of  frost.  'There  are  about  sixty  of  these  springs,  of  varying 
dimensions,  extending  over  an  area  of  a  mile  square,  and  remains  of  similar  springs 
extend  for  miles  around,  and  high  hills  of  the  same  deposit  now  overgrown  with  pine- 
trees.  The  water  is  at  the  boiling-point,  and  contains  in  solution  a  great  quantity 
of  lime,  sulphur,  and  magnesia,  which  have  been  slowly  deposited  in  every  form  and 
shape  as  the  water  flows  along  in  its  course  down  the  mountain-side. 

On  each  level  or  terrace  there  is  a  large  central  spring,  which  is  usually  surrounded 
by  a  basin  of  several  feet  in  diameter,  and  the  water,  after  pouring  over  the  beauti- 
fully wrought  rim,  forms  hundreds  of  basins  or  reservoirs  of  every  size  and  depth, 
the  margins  being  delicately  indented  with  a  finish  which  resembles  the  finest  bead- 
work.  The  character  of  the  formation  depends  on  the  heat  and  flow  of  the  water, 
as  well  as  on  the  nature  of  the  mineral  matter  with  which  the  water  is  charged  in 
any  particular  place.  Where  the  water  flows  slowly,  and  without  much  heat,  the 
smaller  basins  and  terraces  are  formed,  one  below  the  other,  with  delicate  partitions 


156 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


and  graceful  fringes ;  but,  where  the  flow  is  hot  and  swift,  the  basins  are  deeper  and 
larger  and  the  ornamentation  coarser.  The  Eev.  Mr.  Stanley,  who  gave  an  interest- 
ing study  of  the  Yellowstone  Valley  in  his  book  entitled  "  Rambles  in  Wonderland," 
has  the  following  description  of  these  hot  springs  : 

"Where  the  water  flows  quite  rapidly,  the  pools  are  filling  up,  leaving  the  deposit 
in  wave-like  forms,   just  like  water  congealed  when  flowing  over  a  cascade.      Under- 
neath the  sides  of  many  of  the  basins  are  beautifully  arranged  stalactites,  formed  by 
the    dripping    of    the    water  ; 
and,    by  digging  beneath   the 
surface    at    places    where    the 
springs  are  inactive,  the  most 
delicate    and   charming   speci- 
mens of  every   character  and 
form    can    be    obtained  —  sta- 
lactites,   stalagmites,    grottoes, 
etc.,  all  delicately  arranged  as 
the  water  filtrates  through  the 
crevices    and     perforations    of 
the  deposit.     The  larger  pools, 
before     the    erection 
of  bathing-houses,  af- 
forded a  splendid  op- 
portunity to  enjoy  the 
luxury  of  bathing,  as 
water  of  any  temper- 
ature desirable  could 
be  secured.    The  sides 
of  the  mountain  for 


THE   YELLOWSTONE    VALLEY.  157 

hundreds  of  yards  in  extent  are  covered  with  this  calcareous  incrustation,  formerly 
possessing  all  the  ornamental  attractions  of  the  springs  now  in  action.  It  is  a  scene 
sublime  in  itself  to  see  the  entire  area  with  its  numerous  and  terraced  reservoirs,  and 
millions  of  delicate  little  urns,  sparkling  with  water  transparent  as  glass,  and  tinged 
with  many  varieties  of  coloring,  all  glistening  under  the  glare  of  a  noonday  sun.  But 
the  water  is  constantly  changing  its  channel,  and  atmospheric  agencies  have  disfigured 
much  of  the  work,  leaving  a  great  portion  of  it  only  the  resemblance  of  an  old  ruin. 

"Every  active  spring  or  cluster  of  springs  has  its  succession  of  little  urns  and  reser- 
voirs extending  in  various  directions.  The  largest  spring  now  active,  situated  about 
half-way  up  the  mountain  on  the  outer  edge  of  the  main  terrace,  has  a  basin  about 
twenty-five  by  forty  feet  in  diameter,  in  the  center  of  which  the  water  boils  up 
several  inches  above  the  surface,  and  is  so  transparent  that  you  can,  by  approaching 
the  margin,  look  down  into  the  heated  depths  many  feet  below  the  surface.  The 
sides  of  the  cavern  are  ornamented  with  a  coral-like  formation  of  almost  every  variety 
of  shade,  with  a  fine,  silky  substance,  much  like  moss,  of  a  bright  vegetable  green, 
spread  over  it  thinly,  which,  with  a  slight  ebullition  of  the  water  keeping  it  in 
constant  motion,  and  the  blue  sky  reflected  in  the  transparent  depths,  gives  it  an 
enchanting  beauty  far  beyond  the  skill  of  the  finest  artist.  Here  all  the  hues  of  the 
rainbow  are  seen  and  arranged  so  gorgeously  that,  with  other  strange  views  by  which 
one  is  surrounded,  you  almost  imagine  yourself  in  some  fairy  region,  the  wonders  of 
which  baffle  all  attempts  of  pen  or'  pencil  to  portray  them. 

"Besides  the  elegant  sculpturing  of  this  deposit,  imagine,  if  you  can,  the  wonder- 
ful variety  of  delicate  and  artistically  arranged  colors  with  which  it  is  adorned.  The 
mineral-charged  fluid  lays  down  pavements  here  and  there  of  all  the  shades  of  red, 
from  bright  scarlet  to  rose-tint,  beautiful  layers  of  bright  sulphur-yellow,  interspersed 
with  tints  of  green — all  elaborately  arranged  in  Nature's  own  order.  Viewed  from 
the  Tower  Creek  trail,  which  passes  at  the  base,  this  section  of  the  mountain  has  a 
very  architectural  appearance." 

Just  below  the  base  of  the  principal  terrace  there  is  a  large  area  covered  with 
shallow  pools,  some  of  them  containing  water  with  all  the  ornamentations  perfect, 
while  others  are  fast  going  to  decay,  the  decomposed  sediment  being  as  white  as 
snow.  Here  we  also  find  a  remarkable  cone  about  fifty  feet  in  height  and  twenty  in 
diameter,  which  is  known  as  the  "Liberty-Cap."  This  is  probably  the  remains  of  an 
extinct  geyser.  The  water  seems  to  have  been  forced  up  with  considerable  power,  and 
without  rest,  building  up  its  own  crater  until  the  pressure  beneath  was  exhausted,  and 
then  it  gradually  closed  itself  over  at  the  summit  and  perished.  No  water  flows  from 
it  now,  and  the  layers  of  lime  look  like  the  layers  of  straw  on  a  thatched  roof. 

As  we  continue  up  the  mountain  among  the  remains  of  dead  springs  we  are 
obliged  to  wade  through  beds  of  magnesia  as  fine  as  flour,  and  find  places  where 
pure  pulverized  sulphur  can  be  had  by  the  cart-load.  The  mountain-side  abounds  in 
fissures  caused  by  the  settling  of  the  deposit,  forcing  the  springs  often  to  change 
their  channels.  Then,  again,  we  see  mounds  with  deep  cracks  cleaving  their  sides, 


158 


OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 


Sprinys. 


within  which  gleam  delicate  sulphur-crystals,  formed  by  the  steam  and  gases  emitted 
from  the  boiling  caldrons  below. 

Certain  parts  of  the  mountain  abound  in  caverns  once  the  scene  of  boiling  lakes. 
One  of  these,  called  "The  Devil's  Kitchen,"  has  been  partly  explored  ;  but  the  curious 
traveler  is  quickly  repelled  by  the  cloud  of  warm,  sickening  steam  that  pours  out, 
and  perhaps  warned  by  the  skeleton  of  a  deer  or  an  elk  which  had  gone  too  near, 
and,  blinded  and  suffocated  by  the  exhalations,  died  on  the  verge  of  the  seething  water. 


THE   YELLOWSTONE    VALLEY.  159 

As  we  near  these  wonderful  boiling  springs,  there  is  a  natural  hesitation  about 
approaching  too  close  to  the  edge,  but,  finding  the  crust  solid,  one  gets  bolder,  and 
ventures  to  stand  right  over  the  steaming  caldrons.  There  have  been  a  few  cases  of 
venturous  visitors  falling  through  into  the  hissing  water,  with  results  too  horrible  to 
mention,  but  such  accidents  are  soon  forgotten.  The  various  stalactites  and  other 
interesting  mineral  forms  found  about  the  little  reservoirs,  and  in  the  caves  and 
fissures,  make  fine  cabinet  specimens,  and  many  place  little  baskets  and  picture-frames 
in  the  water,  where  shortly  they  become  beautifully  incrusted  with  sparkling  vari- 
colored crystals. 

A  ride  of  about  twenty  miles  southeast  from  the  Mammoth  Hot  Springs,  through 
towering  mountains  cut  by  deep  gulches  and  canons,  brings  us  to  the  famous  Mud 
Springs,  which  are  not  less  curious  than  those  just  described.  These  are  scattered 
along  on  both  sides  of  the  river,  extending  on  the  hill-sides  from  fifty  to  two  hun- 
dred feet  above.  The  first  one  we  notice  has  a  circular  rim  about  four  feet  high, 
within  the  basin  of  which  boils  up  liquid  mud.  The  diameter  is  about  eight  feet, 
and  the  mud  so  fine  that  it  migh-t  be  compared  to  a  huge  pot  of  hot  mush.  The 
escaping  gas  constantly  throws  up  the  mud,  sometimes  to  the  height  of  twenty  feet. 
Another  of  these  basins,  not  far  away,  is  forty  feet  in  diameter,  the  water  just  turbid 
and  boiling  moderately.  Into  it  flow  several  small  springs,  thus  lessening  the  heat. 
In  the  reservoirs  where  the  waters  boil  up  with  considerable  force,  the  temperature  is 
only  ninety-six  degrees,  showing  the  bubbling  to  be  due  to  the  escape  of  gas,  for  the 
bubbles  stand  all  over  the  thick,  whitish  water.  In  some  of  the  smaller  mud  springs 
the  heat  rises  to  the  temperature  of  one  hundred  and  eighty-two  degrees.  The  mud 
which  has  been  wrought  in  these  caldrons  for  hundreds  of  years  is  so  tine  and  pure 
that  the  maker  of  porcelain-ware  would  go  into  ecstasies  at  the  sight.  Often  it  is  of 
such  snowy  whiteness  as  to  resemble,  when  dried,  the  finest  meerschaum.  The  color 
of  the  mud  depends  on  the  character  of  the  ground  through  which  the  waters  of  the 
spring  reach  the  surface.  Originally  the  springs  were  clear,  perhaps  geysers  or  spout- 
ing fountains  ;  but  the  continual  caving-in  of  the  sides  has  finally  produced  a  mud- 
pot,  just  the  same  on  a  big  scale  as  we  see  in  a  kettle  of  hasty-pudding.  At  first 
clear  and  hot,  the  water  becomes  turbid  from  the  mingling  of  the  earth  with  it, 
until  at  last  it  attains  the  character  of  thick  mush,  through  which  the  gas  bursts 
with  a  dull,  thud-like  noise.  Every  variation  is  found,  from  a  sort  of  milky  thickness 
to  a  stiff  mortar.  On  the  eastern  bank  of  the  Yellowstone  are  also  seen  several  mud- 
springs  strongly  charged  with  alum  and  sulphur. 

Not  far  from  these  mud-springs  is  quite  a  remarkable  sulphur-mountain  and  a 
mud-volcano.  Lieutenant  Barlow  gives  the  following  description  of  these  in  his  report 
to  the  Government  : 

"  Toward  the  western  verge  of  a  prairie  several  miles  in  extent,  above  the  Yellow- 
stone Falls,  a  hill  of  white  rock  was  discovered,  which  on  investigation  proved  to  be 
another  of  the  'soda  mountains,'  as  the  hunters  call  them.  Approaching  nearer,  I 
saw  jets  of  steam  and  smoke  issuing  from  the  face  of  the  hill,  while  its  other  side 


160  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

was  hollowed  out  into  a  sort  of  amphitheatre,  whose  sides  were  steaming  with  sulphur- 
fumes,  the  ground  hot  and  parched  with  internal  fires ;  acre  after  acre  of  this  hot 
volcanic  surface  lay  before  me,  having  numerous  cracks  and  small  apertures,  at  inter- 
vals of  a  few  feet,  whence  were  expelled,  sometimes  in  steady,  continuous  streams, 
sometimes  in  puffs  like  those  of  an  engine,  jets  of  vapor,  more  or  less  impregnated 
with  mineral  substances.  I  ascended  the  hill,  leaving  my  horse  below,  fearing  that 
he  might  break  through  the  thin  rock-crust,  which  in  many  places  gave  way  beneath 
the  tread,  revealing  caverns  of  pure  crystallized  sulphur,  from  which  hot  fumes  were 
sure  to  issue.  The  crystals  were  very  fine,  but  too  frail  to  transport  without  the 
greatest  care.  A  large  boiling  spring  emitting  fumes  of  sulphur  and  sulphuretted 
hydrogen,  not  at  all  agreeable,  was  also  found.  The  water  from  this  spring,  over- 
running its  basin,  trickled  down  the  hill-side,  leaving  a  highly  colored  trace  in  the 
chalky  rock.  Upon  the  opposite  side  were  found  a  great  number  of  larger  springs. 
One,  from  its  size,  and  the  power  it  displayed  in  throwing  water  to  a  height  of  sev- 
eral feet  above  the  surface,  was  wortHy  of  notice.  Near  this  was  a  spring  having 
regular  pulsations,  like  a  powerful  engine,  giving  off  large  quantities  of  steam,  which 
would  issue  forth  with  the  roar  of  a  hurricane.  This  was  in  reality  a  steam  volcano ; 
deep  vibrations  in  the  subterranean  caverns  extending  far  away  beneath  the  hill  could 
be  distinctly  heard. 

"  The  country  from  this  point  to  the  mud  volcano,  a  few  miles  above,  was  mostly 
rolling  prairie,  intersected  with  several  streams  flowing  into  the  river,  some  of  them 
having  wide  estuaries  and  adjacent  swampy  flats  covered  with  thick  marsh  -  grass. 
Ducks  were  usually  found  in  these  sluggish  streams,  as  well  as  in  the  little  lakes  so 
numerous  throughout  the  whole  region.  We  camped  on  the  bank  of  the  river  in  the 
immediate  vicinity  of  the  mud  geyser.  This  being  the  first  specimen  of  the  true 
geysers  yet  seen,  it  was  examined  with  great  curiosity.  The  central  point  of  interest, 
however,  is  the  mud  volcano,  which  has  broken  out  from  the  side  of  a  well-timbered 
hill.  The  crater  is  twenty-five  feet  across  at  the  top,  gradually  sloping  inward  to  the 
bottom,  where  it  becomes  about  half  this  diameter.  Its  depth  is  about  thirty  feet. 
The  deposit  is  gray  mud,  and  has  been  -thrown  up  by  the  action  of  the  volcano  at  no 
very  distant  period.  The  rim  of  the  crater  on  the  down-hill  side  is  some  ten  feet  in 
height,  and  trees,  fifty  feet  high  and  a  hundred  feet  distant,  are  loaded  with  mud 
from  this  volcano.  The  surface  of  the  bottom  is  in  a  constant  state  of  ebullition, 
puffing  and  throwing  up  masses  of  solid  mud  and  sending  forth  dense  columns  of 
steam  several  hundred  feet  above  the  surrounding  forests.  This  vapor  can  be  seen 
for  many  miles  in  all  directions.  Some  four  hundred  yards  from  this  crater  are 
three  large  hot  springs  of  muddy  water,  one  of  which  proved  to  be  a  geyser,  having 
periods  of  active  eruption  about  every  six  hours.  The  phenomena  attending  these 
eruptions  are  as  follows  :  Soon  after  the  violent  period  passes,  the  water  in  the  pool 
gradually  subsides  through  the  orifice  in  the  center,  the  surface  falling  several  feet, 
the  water  almost  entirely  disappearing  from  sight.  It  then  gradually  rises  again  till 
the  former  level  is  reached,  during  which  occasional  ebullitions  of  greater  or  less 


THE   YELLOWSTONE   VALLEY. 


161 


magnitude  occur.  Great  agitation  then  ensues  ;  pulsations  of  a  regular  interval  of 
a  few  seconds  occur,  at  each  of  which  the  water  in  the  crater  is  elevated  higher 
and  higher,  until  finally,  after  ten  minutes,  a  column  is  forced  up  to  the  height  of 
thirty  or  forty  feet.  Dur- 
ing this  period  waves  dash 
against  the  side  of  the  ba- 
sin, vast  clouds  of  steam 
escape,  and  a  noise  like 
the  rumbling  of  an  earth- 
quake takes  place.  Sud- 
denly, after  about  fifteen 
minutes  of  this  commo- 
tion, the  waves  recede, 
quiet  is  restored,  the  wa- 
ters sink  gradually  to  their 
lowest  limit,  from  which 
they  soon  rise  again  and 
repeat  the  same  opera- 
tion." 

By  riding  up  the  riv- 
er a  few  miles  from  this 
point  we  reach  the  falls 
and  the  Grand  Canon  of 
the  Yellowstone,  which  are 
among  the  most  wonder- 
ful features  of  a  wonder- 
ful region.  Not  far  from 
the  falls  rises  Mount  Wash- 
burn,  a  majestic  mountain 
which  lifts  itself  to  the 
height  of  10,480  feet,  the 
summit  of  which  may  be 
reached  on  horseback  with- 
out much  difficulty.  The 
prospect  from  the  summit 
is  grand,  as  it  includes  the 
very  crown  of  the  conti- 
nent, where  the  great  riv- 
ers, the  Columbia,  the  Co- 
lorado, and  the  Missouri,  in  small  streams  plunge  down  rocky  defiles  to  the  fertile  val- 
leys below,  increasing  in  volume  as  they  flow  toward  every  point  of  the  compass.  To 

the  south  and  west  may  be  seen  the  summits  of  the   Rocky   Mountains,  the  great 
11 


Grand  Canon  of  the  Yellowstone. 


162 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


divide  of  the  continent.  Still  farther  to  the  south  are  the  Three  Tetons,  rearing  their 
cloud-capped  peaks  far  above  their  surroundings.  To  the  west  and  northwest  are  the 
Gallatin  and  Madison  ranges,  their  tops  seeming  to  melt  away  in  the  dim  distance  into 
the  very  clouds.  To  the  northward  spread  before  us  is  the  wonderful  Yellowstone 
Valley,  with  its  thousands  of  boiling  springs.  On  the  eastward  boundary  of  one's 
vision  may  be  seen  the  Snowy  range,  extending  far  southward  to  Emigrant  Peak  east 

of  the  Yellowstone,  mark- 
ing the  divide  between  that 
stream  and  the  Rosebud  and 
Big  Horn.  All  around  is  a 
chaotic  mass  of  peaks,  re- 
minding one  of  leaning  tow- 
ers, pyramids,  castles,  and 
here  and  there  showing  the 
perfect  profile  of  a  human 
face.  To  the  south  is  the  ba- 
sin of  the  upper  Yellowstone, 
once  the  seat  of  a  great  in- 
land sea ;  then,  again,  the  cen- 
ter of  volcanic  powers,  prob- 
ably almost  unrivaled  in  the 
physical  history  of  the  globe ; 
now  the  scene  of  mud -vol- 
canoes, boiling  springs,  and 
spouting  geysers,  which  send 
on  high  their  pillars  of  steam. 
In  the  southeastern  portion  of 
the  horizon  lies  Yellowstone 
Lake,  whose  mirror-like  sur- 
face gleams  like  liquid  silver 
in  the  sunlight.  Rising  be- 
yond the  lake  are  the  Wind 
River  Mountains,  whose  sum- 
mits form  the  divide  between 
the  Yellowstone  and  Wind 
Rivers,  the  tops  mantled  with 

glittering  glaciers  which  human  foot  has  never  trod,  and  which  the  Indians  consider 
"the  crest  of  the  world." 

According  to  the  legend  of  the  Blackfeet  Indians,  the  red  warrior  may  look  from 
these  snow-crowned  heights  over  into  the  happy  hunting-grounds,  with  its  enchanting 
lakes  and  rivers,  its  delightful  landscapes,  balmy  breezes,  and  cloudless  skies,  the 
abode  of  the  happy  spirits,  who  chase  for  ever  the  antelope,  elk,  and  buffalo — a  land 


Upper  Falls  of  the  Yellowstone. 


THE   YELLOWSTONE    VALLEY.  163 

where  the  intruding  white  man  may  not  come.  At  our  very  feet  toward  the  east 
may  be  traced  the  outlines  of  the  Grand  Canon,  extending  twenty  miles  down  the 
river  from  the  falls.  Great  pine-forests  stretch  away  in  every  direction  as  far  as  the 
eye  can  reach,  mantling  the  table-lands  and  undulating  hills  with  rich  green.  Such 
a  magnificent  outlook  repays  well,  indeed,  the  toils  of  a  not  very  difficult  ascent. 

A  ride  of  ten  miles  from  our  camping-ground  at  the  base  of  Mount  Washburn, 
following  a  zigzag  track  through  fallen  timber  and  dense  pine-forests,  brings  us  to 
the  head  of  the  Grand  Canon  of  the  Yellowstone.  As  we  approach,  the  mighty  roar 
of  the  falls  warns  us  that  we  are  near,  and  we  soon  emerge  from  the  last  fringe  of 
woods  and  stand  on  the  brink  of  the  great  chasm  silent  with  astonishment.  The  Grand 
Canon  is  a  ravine  from  one  to  two  thousand  feet  deep,  into  which  the  river  pours 
over  a  precipice,  making  what  is  called  the  Upper  Falls.  The  stream,  after  flowing 
through  a  beautiful,  meadow-like  valley,  and  winding  along  the  shade  of  a  charming 
woodland  with  a  current  so  clear  that  the  swimming  fish  may  be  seen,  is  suddenly 
compressed  to  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  in  width,  and  dashes  over  a  wall  one  hun- 
dred and  forty  feet  high.  A  quarter  of  a  mile  below  it  is  again  narrowed  between 
two  walls,  and  makes  the  prodigious  leap  of  three  hundred  and  fifty  feet  into  the 
boiling  abyss  beneath,  thus  having  a  perpendicular  fall  of  five  hundred  feet  within  a 
few  hundred  yards.  Far  down  the  gloomy  canon  the  stream  is  narrowed,  till  it  seems 
a  mere  green  ribbon  dashing  with  arrow-like  swiftness  down  rapids,  spinning  around 
jutting  rocks,  and  wasting  its  strength  in  boiling  waves  against  the  massive  walls  that 
tower  above  them.  From  the  gloomy  depths  of  the  canon  the  river  finally  emerges 
at  the  mouth  of  Tower  Creek,  many  miles  below. 

The  two  great  water-falls  have  crept  backward,  gradually  eating  their  way  through 
the  lavas  and  leaving  below  them  the  ravine  of  the  Grand  Canon.  The  weather  has 
acted  on  the  sides  of  the  gorge,  scooping  and  carving  them  into  a  series  of  bastions 
and  sloping  recesses,  the  dark  forest  above  sweeping  down  to  the  very  brink  on  both 
sides.  Mr.  Archibald  Geikie,  a  well-known  English  scientist,  gives  us  the  following 
impressions  of  the  caflon  as  seen  in  a  recent  visit : 

"We  spent  a  long  day  sketching  and  wandering  by  the  side  of  the  caflon.  Scram- 
bling to  the  edge  of  one  of  the  bastions  and  looking  down,  we  could  see  the  river  far 
below,  dwarfed  to  a  mere  silver  thread.  From  this  abyss  the  crags  and  slopes  towered 
up  in  endless  variety  of  form,  and  with  the  weirdest  mingling  of  colors.  Much  of  the 
rock,  especially  of  the  more  crumbling  slopes,  was  of  a  pale  sulphur-yellow.  Through 
this  groundwork  harder  masses  of  dull  scarlet,  merging  into  purple  and  crimson,  rose 
into  craggy  knobs  and  pinnacles,  or  shot  up  in  sheer  vertical  walls.  In  the  sunlight 
of  the  morning  the  place  is  a  blaze  of  strange  color,  such  as  one  can  hardly  see  any- 
where save  in  the  crater  of  an  active  volcano.  But  as  the  day  wanes,  the  shades  of 
evening  sinking  gently  into  the  depths  blend  their  livid  tints  into  a  strange,  mysteri- 
ous gloom,  through  which  one  can  still  see  the  white  gleam  of  the  rushing  river  and 
hear  the  distant  murmur  of  its  flow.  Now  is  the  time  to  see  the  full  majesty  of  the 
caflon.  Perched  on  an  outstanding  crag  one  can  look  down  the  ravine  and  mark 


164 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


headland  behind  headland  mounting  out  of  the  gathering  shadows  and  catching  up  on 
their  scarred  fronts  of  yellow  and  red  the  mellower  tints  of  the  sinking  sun.  And 
above  all  lie  the  dark  folds  of  pine  sweeping  along  the  crests  of  the  precipices,  which 
they  crown  with  a  rim  of  somber  green.  There  are  gorges  of  far  more  imposing 


Column  Rocks. 

magnitude  in  the  Colorado  Basin,  but  for  dimensions  large  enough  to  be  profoundly 
striking,  yet  not  too  vast  to  be  taken  in  by  the  eye  at  once,  for  infinite  changes  of 
picturesque  detail,  and  for  brilliancy  and  endless  variety  of  coloring,  there  are  prob- 
ably few  scenes  in  the  world  more  impressive  than  the  Grand  Canon  of  the  Yellow- 
stone. Such  at  least  were  the  feelings  with  which  we  reluctantly  left  it  to  resume 
our  journey." 

The  Tipper  Falls,  though  not  so  high,  yet  being  nearer  the  world  of  sunlight,  get 
the  play  and  flash  of  brightness  on  their  waters,  and  for  this  reason  have  a  pictur- 
esque beauty  peculiarly  their  own.  Part  way  down  their  leap  the  volume  strikes  a  sort 


THE   YELLOWSTONE    VALLEY. 


165 


of  bench,  which  breaks  the  mass  into  jets  and  showers  of  foam.     The  clouds  of  spray 
glitter  with  crystal  beauty,  and  enchanting  rainbows  arch  the  ascending  mist.      One 
can  easily  descend  to  the  foot  of  the  precipice,  and,  though  he  will  be  drenched  with 
spray,  there  is  such  charm  of  color,  form,  and  movement  in  the  vision,  that  he  is 
loath  to  depart.     The  grass 
and  small  shrubs  grow  pro- 
fusely wherever  the  mist  is 
scattered,  and  the  deep  em- 
erald hue  makes  a  charm- 
ing contrast  to  the  glaring 
white  of  the  falls  and  the 
somber  look  of  the  canon- 
walls. 

But  the  Lower  Falls, 
owing  to  their  great  height 
and  the  imposing  surround- 
ings, make  the  center  of  at- 
traction. Here  the  caflon 
lifts  its  walls  fully  two  thou- 
sand feet  above  the  bed  of 
the  stream,  the  sides  being 
carved  into  the  most  weird 
and  grotesque  forms,  as  well 
as  into  architectural  shapes 
of  great  regularity,  all  ar- 
rayed in  the  most  varied  col- 
ors. The  fall  at  first  sight 
does  not  look  so  high  as  one 
expects,  owing  to  the  mass- 
iveness  of  the  caflon,  but  its 
grandeur  grows  rapidly  on 
the  mind.  It  presents  the 
appearance  of  a  symmetrical 
and  unbroken  sheet  of  snow- 
like  foam,  or  silver  tapes- 
try suspended  from  the  vast 
pillars  above,  set  in  dark 
masses  of  rock,  on  either 

side  forming  a  beautiful  background,  and  disappearing  in  a  cloud  of  ascending  spray 
which  is  tinged  with  mellow  sunlight  and  colored  with  brilliant  rainbows.  Says  Mr. 
Langford,  one  of  the  first  explorers  :  "A  grander  scene  than  the  lower  cataract  of 
the  Yellowstone  was  never  witnessed  by  mortal  eyes.  The  volume  seemed  to  be 


Lower  Falls  of  the  Yellowstone. 


166  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

adapted  to  the  harmonies  of  the  surrounding  scenery.  Had  it  been  greater  or  smaller, 
it  would  have  been  less  impressive.  The  river,  from  a  width  of  two  hundred  feet 
above  the  fall,  is  compressed  by  converging  rocks  to  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  where 
it  takes  the  plunge.  The  shelf  over  which  it  falls  is  as  level  as  a  work  of  art.  The 
height  by  actual  line-measurement  is  three  hundred  and  fifty  feet.  It  is  a  sheer,  com- 
pact, solid,  perpendicular  sheet,  faultless  in  all  the  elements  of  picturesque  beauty." 
The  rocks  on  either  side  are  beautifully  decorated  with  vegetation  and  many-tinted 
mosses,  and  on  one  side,  overshadowed  by  the  pine-crested  wall,  may  be  seen  a  bank 
of  snow  which  never  melts.  The  volume  and  swiftness  of  the  liquid  mass  in  this 
dizzy  plunge  cause  the  water  to  rebound  for  a  considerable  distance  in  the  air.  It  is 
thus  dashed  against  the  canon-walls  and  churned  into  a  perfect  white  whirlpool  of 
boiling  foam.  Perhaps  we  get  a  more  vivid  notion  of  the  great  force  of  this  cat- 
aract by  watching  it  from  below,  to  which  it  is  possible,  but  not  easy,  to  scramble  at 
some  peril  of  life  and  limb. 

The  view  here  is  of  the  most  impressive  kind.  The  river,  so  small  from  above, 
has  become  a  madly  raging  torrent,  lashed  into  foaming  waves,  while  the  stately  pines 
at  the  top  of  the  wall  appear  dwarfed  into  little  shrubs.  We  appear  to  be  in  a  cham- 
ber so  vast  as  to  stun  and  daze  the  fancy,  the  great  walls  of  the  gorge  seeming  to  be 
a  fatal  prison.  The  sides  of  them,  delicately  carved  and  painted  with  the  richest 
colors,  are  arched  over  by  the  blue  sky,  and  the  sunlight  warms  the  upper  part  of 
the  picture  with  a  mellow  brightness  that  relieves  the  utter  grimness  of  the  gloomy 
depths  where  we  stand.  The  roar  of  the  cataract  echoes  through  the  canon-walls, 
mingling  with  that  of  the  torrent  below,  while,  above  and  beyond  all,  the  eye  and 
imagination  are  fascinated  by  that  immense  solid  sheet  of  foaming  white  which  pours 
down  in  unchanging  volume  in  that  astonishing  leap  of  three  hundred  and  fifty  feet. 
The  spectacle  is  alike  awful  and  beautiful,  and  calculated  to  stir  in  the  mind  of 
every  spectator  feelings  of  astonishment  and  delight. 

At  the  lower  mouth  of  the  Grand  Canon  there  is  another  deep  and  gloomy  canon 
running  into  it  laterally,  which  is  known  as  "The  Devil's  Den."  Through  this  flows 
Tower  Creek  for  about  ten  miles,  emptying  itself  through  this  great  defile  into  the 
Yellowstone  River.  About  two  hundred  yards  before  it  empties  its  waters  into  the 
main  stream  it  leaps  over  an  abrupt  descent  of  one  hundred  and  fifty-six  feet,  making 
a  most  picturesque  fall,  though  it  excites  but  little  amazement  after  having  just  seen 
a  grander  example  of  Nature's  handiwork.  This  is  called  Tower  Falls.  The  softer 
rocks  on  the  sides  of  the  canon  have  been  worn  away,  leaving  columns  of  volcanic 
breccia  of  every  size  and  form,  from  ten  to  fifty  feet  in  height.  They  stand  like  old 
castles  and  towers,  or  send  up  thin,  slender  forms,  like  church-domes,  or  the  spiral 
minarets  of  Moslem  temples.  One  characteristic  of  all  these  canons  is  the  great 
variety  of  color  on  the  rock-walls,  all  the  shades  of  red,  brown,  yellow,  and  green, 
uniting  with  the  numerous  fantastic  shapes  to  impress  the  imagination  and  charm 
the  eye. 

Starting  from  camp   just  below  the   upper  falls  of  the  Yellowstone,  a  ride  west- 


THE   YELLOWSTONE   VALLEY.  167 

ward  carries  us  over  the  beautiful  prairie,  matted  with  grass  and  spangled  with  flowers, 
which  for  the  most  part  fills  the  region  between  the  Yellowstone  and  the  Madison 
Eivers.  Mountains  in  the  distance  clad  with  somber  pine-forests  fringe  the  borders  of 
the  prairie-park,  and  the  air  is  touched  with  a  delicious  coolness  from  blowing  over 
the  long  stretch  of  snowy  peaks.  All  along  the  route  may  be  seen  here  and  there 
a  hot  spring,  and  the  rich  green  of  the  verdure  contrasts  startlingly  with  the  hard 
and  iron-looking  crust  which  surrounds  these  seething  little  fountains.  About  a  day's 
travel  —  perhaps  forty  miles  —  brings  us  to  the  verge  of  the  most  curious  volcanic 
exhibitions  of  the  Yellowstone  Valley,  the  famous  geysers.  The  latter  part  of  the 
journey  has  been  down  steep  mountain-sides  and  through  almost  impenetrable  forests, 
but  the  expectation  of  soon  reaching  a  most  interesting  display  of  Nature's  powers 
dispels  all  fatigue,  and  keeps  the  mind  keenly  alert.  Suddenly  we  find  ourselves  in 
the  Lower  Geyser  Basin,  situated  on  the  Firehole  River,  the  principal  branch  of  the 
Madison.  Here  is  an  open  space  of  several  square  miles  in  the  thick  forest,  which 
grows  along  the  foot  of  the  neighboring  hills,  containing  a  great  number  of  hot 
springs,  surrounded  by  all  sorts  of  fantastic  forms — lakes  of  hot  water,  genuine  gey- 
sers, and  manifold  curiosities — all  the  result  of  internal  heat  seeking  an  outlet.  While 
the  springs  here  are  much  more  numerous,  they  do  not  attain  the  grand  proportions 
of  those  of  the  Upper  Geyser  Basin,  though  a  few  of  them  throw  water  to  the  height 
of  fifty  feet.  Continuing  our  journey  southward  up  the  Firehole  River,  we  arrive  at 
the  Upper  Geyser  Basin,  which,  for  most  tourists,  is  the  great  center  of  attraction  in 
the  National  Park. 

Let  our  readers  fancy  a  clearing  in  a  dense  forest,  where  the  trees  have  evidently 
been  destroyed  by  volcanic  agencies,  for  numerous  trunks  and  tree-branches  are  found 
imbedded  in  the  deposit  around  the  geysers  and  springs,  and  indeed  all  over  the  basin. 
The  portion  containing  the  principal  geysers  extends  up  and  down  the  river  about  a 
mile,  with  a  width  of  from  a  quarter  to  a  half  mile,  interspersed  with  scattered  pine- 
trees  and  little  groves.  The  basin  is  covered  with  a  whitish  crust,  ordinarily  hard 
enough  to  hold  the  weight  of  a  horse,  though  here  and  there  are  found  boggy,  treach- 
erous places.  Around  the  geysers  and  principal  springs  are  various-  mineral  deposits, 
shaped  into  all  conceivable  forms  —  cones,  pyramids,  castles,  grottoes,  etc.  Steam- 
vents,  from  half  an  inch  to  five  feet  in  diameter,  everywhere  perforate  the  surface,  and 
pour  forth  clouds  from  their  thousand  orifices,  while  caldrons  of  boiling  water  seethe 
and  roar  all  around.  The  bright  sunlight  pouring  down  on  the  steam-clouds  trans- 
figures them  into  the  richest  colors,  making  a  picture  to  delight  the  eye  of  the  painter. 
The  first  geyser  which  attracts  our  attention  is  called  the  "  Old  Faithful,"  from  the 
regular  intervals  with  which  the  water  spouts.  This  geyser  stands  as  a  sentinel  on  an 
eminence  near  the  head  of  the  basin,  and  on  the  west  side  of  the  river.  The  grand 
display  of  subterranean  water- works  is  as  regular  as  the  running  of  clock-work.  The 
crater  of  this  geyser  is  about  thirty  feet  above  the  common  level,  with  a  huge  spout 
projecting  five  or  six  feet  higher,  in  the  shape  of  a  chimney.  As  we  approach  this 
little  steam-volcano,  there  are  a  sudden  rumbling  and  quaking  of  the  earth  under  the 


168 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


Tower  Falls. 


feet,    followed    by   a    rush    of 
steam  and  water  from  the  cra- 
ter, and  in  an  instant  there  is 
a  grand  eruption,  a  huge  vol- 
ume of  clear  hot  water  hurled 
into  the  air  about  a  hundred 
and  fifty  feet  high,  while  dense 
clouds  of  steam  rise  up  hun- 
dreds of  feet  and  slowly  roll 
away  into  the  sky  above.     So 
great  is  the  force  beneath  which 
impels  the  mighty  steam  -  jet, 
that  the  lofty  fountain  remains 
undisturbed    for    several    mo- 
ments, only  rocked  to  and  fro 
by  the  light  breezes,  while  the 
water  pours  down  on  all  sides 
and  floods    the   slopes  of  the 
mound.     The  spectacle  is  one 
which   fills  the  beholder  with 
amazement  and  pleasure,  hard- 
ly to  be  realized  from  mere  de- 
scription.    The  immense  mass 
of  liquid  ejected  from  the  wa- 
ter-volcano forms  a  perfect  apex 
at  the  top,  and,  having  spent 
its  energy,  descends  on  the  out- 
side   of    the   ascending   pillar, 
giving  it,  when  the  wind  drives 
away  the  steam,  the  aspect  of  a 
sugar-loaf.     The  sparkling  wa- 
ter-column, churned  into  foam 
by  its  own  force,  and  breaking 
into  millions  of  bright  drops, 
glittering  in  the  sunlight,  is  a 
spectacle  of  marvelous  beauty. 
The  water  frequently  rises  in 
successive    jets,   each    a    little 
higher  than  the  preceding,  as  if 
the  force  beneath  were  guided 
by  an  intelligent  will   letting 
on  the  power  by  degrees.     Aft- 


THE   YELLOWSTONE    VALLEY. 


169 


er  it  has  maintained  its  greatest  altitude  for  a  few  moments,  it  descends  in  the  same 
way,  till  the  power  is  spent.  When  the  spouting  monster  becomes  quiescent  we  ap- 
proach the  brink  or  orifice  and  gaze  down  its  throat,  and  there,  many  feet  below,  one 
hears  the  water  fiercely  gurgling  and  collecting  its  energies  for  another  outburst. 

Around  the  crater  the  deposit  is  incrusted,  of  metallic,  grayish  sand.  The  sides  of 
the  mound  are  chiseled  into  variously  shaped  urns  and  basins  in  successive  terraces, 
like  those  of  the  Mammoth  Hot  Springs,  all  these  reservoirs  being  full  of  clear  water. 
The  borders  of  these  water-bowls  are  exquisitely  wrought,  as  if  with  beads  of  pearl  of 
various  tints.  In  some  of  them  are  to  be  seen  in  the  water  little  stems  surmounted 
by  caps,  reminding  the  looker-on  of  vegetable  growths  like  mushrooms  or  curiously 
shaped  flowers.  Then,  again,  we  see  stalagmites  and  coral-like  forms  of  every  tint  and 


The  Great  Geyser  Bashi. 

texture.  These  delicate  forms  grow  amid  a  cloud  of  water  and  spray,  and  their 
colors  are  as  bright  and  the  lines  as  finely  wrought  as  those  of  a  butterfly's  plumage, 
though  the  material  is  so  hard  that  it  requires  the  blow  of  a  hatchet  to  get  a  speci- 
men. So  beautiful  and  variegated  in  form  and  tint  are  they,  that  one  might  almost 
fancy  himself  in  fairy-land. 

Leaving  this  geyser  and  crossing  the  river  on  a  fallen  tree,  we  find,  about  three 
hundred  yards  distant,  down  the  stream,  a  little  cone  perfectly  symmetrical  •  in  form 
some  three  feet  high  and  four  feet  in  diameter  at  the  top,  with  a  base  of  nearly 
double  the  size.  The  aperture  of  eruption  is  eighteen  inches,  and  its  edges  prettily 
beaded.  This  is  the  Bee-hive  Geyser,  so  named  from  the  suggestion  of  its  shape. 
Though  it  acts  only  once  in  three  or  four  days,  the  great  beauty  of  its  eruption  makes 


170  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

it  celebrated  with  visitors.  The  column  of  water  and  steam  ascends  to  an  altitude  of 
two  hundred  feet  in  a  perfectly  graceful  form,  without  any  jerk  or  intermission,  and 
continues  in  action  for  fifteen  minutes,  during  which  the  spectator  has  ample  time  to 
study  its  beauties. 

On  the  same  side  of  the  river,  but  about  two  hundred  yards  to  the  eastward, 
on  the  summit  of  a  little  knoll,  is  the  Giantess,  which  is  one  of  the  most  magnificent 
geysers  in  the  basin,  in  action,  though  very  capricious  in  its  times  of  display.  The 
orifice  is  about  twenty-five  feet  in  diameter  at  the  surface,  and  filled  to  the  brim  with 
water,  which  ordinarily  remains  just  below  boiling-heat.  The  casual  observer  would 
think  it  merely  a  large  mineral  spring,  did  he  not  observe  the  huge  channels  carved 
out  of  the  slope  by  the  descending  torrents  of  hot  water  which  have  been  hurled  high 
into  the  air.  The  geyser  looks  quiet  and  untroubled,  and  there  is  nothing  to  indicate 
the  terrible  activity  which  it  is  able  to  assume  so  promptly. 

An  hour  or  two  later  all  is  changed.  Repeated  detonations,  like  claps  of  thunder, 
shake  the  ground,  and  the  roar  finally  becomes  as  regular  as  cannonading  on  the  bat- 
tle-field. The  trembling  of  the  earth  and  the  crash  of  sound  fill  the  unaccustomed 
ear  with  terror,  as  if  some  great  catastrophe  were  about  to  occur.  There  are  a  rum- 
bling and  rushing  of  water  to  and  fro  in  the  deep  reservoir,  and  a  hissing  as  of  the 
escape  of  steam  from  powerful  engine-valves.  On  approaching  the  geyser  close  to  the 
brink,  we  find  the  hitherto  full  pool  emptied  to  the  depth  of  fifty  feet,  and  the  water 
heaving  with  a  terrible  convulsion,  throwing  occasional  jets  of  water  out  of  the  crater. 
The  water,  perhaps,  recedes  finally  entirely  from  view,  and  the  gloomy,  grim,  dark 
walls  are  seen  to  their  full  depth.  If  a  great  eruption  is  about  to  occur,  the  water  fills 
the  huge  reservoir  again  with  great  rapidity  to  within  a  few  feet  of  the  surface ;  there 
is  a  fearful  concussion  that  shakes  the  ground  more  violently  than  ever ;  immense  clouds 
of  steam  rise  five  hundred  feet  high,  and  the  whole  body  of  water,  about  twenty-five 
feet  in  diameter,  ascends  in  a  column  to  the  height  of  ninety  feet.  From  the  apex 
five  great  jets  shoot  up,  radiating  outwardly  from  each  other,  to  the  astonishing  height 
of  two  hundred  and  fifty  feet.  The  earth  trembles  with  the  descending  deluge,  and 
a  hissing  as  of  innumerable  serpents  fills  the  air,  while  brilliant  rainbows  dance  high 
up  on  the  quivering  summits  of  the  jets.  The  sides  of  the  declivity  are  channeled  by 
the  falling  streams,  and  the  steaming  flood  pours  down  the  slope  into  the  river. 
After  twenty  minutes  of  this  splendid  exhibition  the  eruption  subsides  almost  in- 
stantly, the  water  lowers  in  the  crater,  and  all  is  quiet  again,  as  it  was,  a  placid 
pool  instead  of  a  fountain  of  boiling  wrath  and  terror.  All  around  this  grand  geyser 
are  small  springs  and  caldrons,  crowning  little  knolls,  and  many  of  them  spouting 
little  jets,  like  children  emulating  the  examples  of  their  elders. 

By  crossing  Firehole  River  again  to  the  west  side,  and  going  a  short  distance 
down  the  stream,  we  observe  on  the  borders  of  a  little  grove  an  object  somewhat  like 
the  ruins  of  an  old  castle.  This,  in  fact,  is  known  as  Castle  Geyser,  and  consists  of  a 
mound  several  feet  high,  crowned  with  a  chimney-shaped  crater  of  ten  feet  in  height 
and  perhaps  eight  feet  in  diameter.  Ascending  by  regular  steps,  we  come  to  the 


THE   YELLOWSTONE   VALLEY. 


171 


orifice,  which  is  three  feet  wide,  and  surrounded  by  globular  masses,  which  look  not 
unlike  coral.  This  geyser  often  sends  up  water  to  a  height  of  twenty  or  thirty  feet, 
sometimes,  indeed,  rising  to  the  elevation  of  fifty  feet,  and  continuing  in  action  for 
several  hours.  It  is  be- 
lieved that  this  geyser  was  ^-^^^^^^^^^^^te^ 
in  its  day  one  of  the  grand- 
est of  all,  but  it  is  now  in 
its  decadence,  though  still 
at  times  giving  fine  exhibi- 
tions of  spasmodic  power. 
The  Grand  Geyser  is  on 
the  east  side  of  the  river, 
about  an  eighth  of  a  mile 
from  the  foregoing  one, 
and,  unlike  most  of  its 
brethren,  has  no  raised 
cone,  but  only  a  funnel- 
shaped  basin  sinking  be- 
low the  level,  and  some 
forty  feet  in  diameter. 
The  water  is  very  quiet 
when  not  spouting,  and 
one  would  hardly  suppose 
that  this,  and  not  an  ad- 
joining one,  called  the  Tur- 
ban, which  is  continually 
sputtering,  was  a  grand  ex- 
hibition of  Nature's  pow- 
er. But  such,  indeed,  is 
the  case.  The  same  spring 
suddenly  wakes  to  terrible 
energy,  and  its  babbling 
neighbor  is  reduced  to  si- 
lence and  insignificance. 
It  ejects  a  column  of  wa- 
ter the  size  of  its  aperture 
into  the  air  to  a  height 
of  two  hundred  feet,  with 

dense  clouds  of  steam,  while  the  internal  roarings  seem  to  shake  the  earth  to  its  cen- 
ter. It  spouts  at  intervals  of  twenty-four  hours,  and  its  action  lasts  fifteen  or  twenty 
minutes.  A  traveler  who  was  fortunate  enough  to  see  this  geyser  in  action — for  it. 
spouts  at  very  irregular  intervals — thus  describes  it : 


The  Giantess. 


172 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


"  At  daylight  on  the  morning  after  our  arrival  I  was  aroused  from  a  refreshing 
slumber  by  fearful  subterranean  reports,  as  regular  as  pulse-beats,  just  as  though  an 
enormous  hammer  was  being  hurled  with  wonderful  force  against  the  very  foundation 

of  the  earth  immediately 
beneath  us  ;  and,  guided 
by  the  noise,  I  arrived  just 
in  time  to  see  the  geyser 
in  action.  The  basin  was 
nearly  full  of  water,  agitat- 
ed by  the  escape  of  dense 
masses  of  steam,  when,  all 
at  once,  with  another  re- 
port as  if  from  the  engi- 
neer below  giving  the  sig- 
nal to  commence,  and  with 
but  little  effort,  a  column 
of  water  gracefully  rose  to 
the  height  of  nearly  one 
hundred  and  fifty  feet, 
and  was  kept  in  position 
at  that  altitude  for  sev- 
eral minutes,  the  descend- 
ing masses  flowing  away 
in  a  large  stream,  and  the 
immense  volumes  of  steam 
lingering  around,  mantling 
the  beautiful  fountain  and 
thus  depriving  us  of  a  good 
view.  The  column  at  first, 
however,  arose  above  the 
steam,  and,  after  its  force 
was  spent,  retired  within 
the  funnel  out  of  sight.  It 
was  not  one  of  her  grand- 
est efforts,  but  sufficient 
to  give  the  spectator  some 
idea  of  its  glory." 

Not  far  from  this  spout- 
ing fountain  is  an  industrious  geyser  known  as  the  Sawmill,  which  is  in  action  at  least 
half  the  time,  and  the  manosuvres  it  performs  are  not  a  little  comical.  The  orifice  is 
only  six  inches,  surrounded  by  a  shallow  basin  twenty  feet  in  diameter.  When  in 
action  the  basin  brims  over,  and  the  steam,  puffing  up  through  the  aperture,  makes 


We  Giant  Geyser. 


THE   YELLOWSTONE    VALLEY.  173 

a  noise  like  steam  escaping  from  the  pipe  of  a  saw-mill.  It  raises  a  large  body  of 
water  several  feet,  and  then  successive  columns  of  steam  raise  it  higher,  till  it  reaches 
twenty-five  feet,  when  it  descends  in  a  shower  of  crystalline  spray. 

Everywhere  in  this  basin  are  springs,  geysers,  and  small  apertures,  through  which 
jets  of  steam  pour  into  the  air.  At  times  these  steam-holes,  as  they  may  be  called, 
are  inactive,  and  then  there  is  no  special  mark  of  their  function.  Amusing  stories 
are  told  of  incautious  travelers  sitting  down  on  the  ground  in  the  shadow  of  some 
friendly  tree,  and  thinking  themselves  very  comfortable  till  these  subterranean  steam- 
pipes  begin  to  play.  Suddenly  the  weary  tourist  jumps  into  the  air  as  if  a  yellow- 
jacket  had  stung  him,  and  rubs  the  seat  of  his  trousers. 

Following  the  river  down  on  the  east  side  we  pass  numerous  cones,  hot  and  cold 
springs,  till  we  come  to  the  Riverside  Geyser,  with  an  oddly  formed  crater.  This  is 
almost  constantly  in  action,  but  of  moderate  pretensions  in  the  height  of  its  column. 
Not  far  away  from  here  the  trimly  shaped  crater  of  the  Comet  attracts  the  eye,  a  name 
given  from  the  appearance  of  the  crater  when  in  action.  At  the  lower  extremity  of 
the  Upper  Basin  is  the  Fantail  Geyser,  one  of  the  most  interesting  spouters  of  the 
region.  Its  working  machinery  is  quite  complicated,  as  it  has  five  distinct  orifices, 
which  send  up  as  many  jets  of  water  and  steam,  sometimes  to  the  height  of  a  hun- 
dred feet,  which  ascend  and  descend  in  such  a  fashion  as  to  suggest  the  outlines  of 
a  fluttering  feather  fan.  It  spreads  its  watery  plumes  three  or  four  times  a  day,  and 
makes  a  display  so  fine  as  to  be  an  object  of  great  enthusiasm  to  the  majority  of 
visitors. 

Let  us  recross  the  river  once  more  and  pursue  our  course  up  the  west  bank,  a 
short  distance  of  a  hundred  yards,  till  we  come  to  a  cluster  of  springs,  at  one  side 
of  which,  on  a  bed  of  fine  white  sand,  stands  a  grotesque  mound  about  twenty  feet 
above  the  general  level.  This  is  the  crater  of  the  Grotto  Geyser,  noted  chiefly  for  the 
curious  and  irregularly  shaped  walls  surrounding  the  orifice,  and  their  beautiful  effects 
of  form  and  color.  The  deposit  is  formed  into  pillars,  arches,  and  walls,  with  projec- 
tions and  turrets  so  quaintly  jumbled  together  as  almost  to  defy  description.  One 
might  easily  crawl  through  many  of  the  openings  in  the  sides  of  the  walls  when  they 
have  sufficiently  cooled  after  an  eruption.  This  geyser  throws  up  a  great  volume  of 
water  three  or  four  times  a  day  to  the  height  of  sixty  feet,  and  would  be  an  object 
of  much  interest  were  it  not  so  near  the  Giant  Geyser,  which  is  only  two  hundred 
yards  away. 

The  latter  geyser  makes  all  its  wonderful  brethren  commonplace,  and  is  without 
question  the  most  gigantic  boiling  fountain  in  the  world,  a  phenomenon  so  grand  as 
in  itself  to  make  a  trip  to  the  Yellowstone  Basin  well  worth  the  while.  This  mar- 
vel is  one  of  a  group  of  three  orifices,  or  craters,  all  in  a  row  and  in  close  proximity, 
together  with  a  small  vent,  a  little  way  off,  which  continually  emits  jets  of  steam  like 
the  discharge  from  the  escape-pipe  of  an  engine.  They  are  grouped  on  a  slight  eleva- 
tion about  a  hundred  yards  in  diameter.  The  Giant,  of  course,  is  the  great  center  of 
interest  and  curiosity,  and  looks  like  the  base  of  a  broken  horn,  or  it  may  be  com- 


174  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

pared  to  the  stump  of  some  great  hollow  tree,  the  top  of  which  had  been  broken  off 
by  the  sweep  of  a  tornado.  This  huge  stone  stump  projects  about  twelve  feet  above 
the  platform,  with  a  diameter  of  eight  or  ten  feet  at  the  top.  Some  unusually  violent 
eruption  has  torn  away  part  of  one  side,  while  at  the  base  irregular  swellings  and 
ridges  resemble  the  roots  of  an  oak.  As  we  clamber  up  the  side  and  look  down  into 
the  vent,  we  see  dark  stains  and  protuberances,  and  hear  the  raging  tumult  of  the 
water  and  steam  far  down  in  their  subterranean  depths. 

All  the  orifices  are  connected  below,  and  belong  to  the  same  system.  The  continual 
internal  throbbings  make  one  think  of  the  firemen  of  the  infernal  regions  engaged  in 
shoveling  in  fuel  and  getting  ready  for  a  display.  Suddenly,  as  we  watch  with  anx- 
ious eyes,  the  little  steam-jet,  which  is  generally  puffing,  ceases  its  action,  and  the 
geyser  nearest  begins  to  throw  out  great  volumes  of  water  to  an  altitude  of  some 
thirty  feet.  It  plays  a  few  moments,  and  gives  way  to  the  next,  which  spouts  bravely 
for  a  short  while.  These  are  the  heralds  of  the  mightier  force  gathering  its  resources 
for  action.  For  a  moment  all  is  still,  and  then,  with  a  rumbling  and  roaring  as  of 
thunder,  the  Giant  begins  its  work.  The  earth  seems  to  groan,  and  the  power  to  be 
sufficient  to  tear  the  solid  walls  of  the  crater  into  a  thousand  atoms. 

A  volume  of  boiling  water,  of  the  size  of  the  nozzle  of  the  crater — that  is  to  say, 
of  a  diameter  of  about  ten  feet — is  suddenly  hurled  to  a  great  height,  the  action  being, 
repeated  several  times.  Then  for  a  moment  all  is  quiet  again.  But  now  it  begins  in 
earnest,  and  the  fountains  of  the  subterranean  depths  seem  to  be  broken  up  and 
turned  loose  on  the  world.  A  steady  column  of  water,  graceful,  majestic,  and  upright 
as  a  pine-tree,  except  when  swayed  slightly  by  the  passing  breezes,  is  by  rapid  and 
successive  impulses  impelled  upward  till  it  reaches  the  amazing  elevation  of  two  hun- 
dred feet.  At  first  it  appeared  to  labor  in  lifting  the  great  volume  of  water,  but  it 
is  now  with  perfect  ease  that  the  stupendous  column  is  held  to  its  place,  the  water 
breaking  into  jets  on  the  topward  curl  of  descent  and  returning  in  glittering  showers. 
For  thousands  of  feet  above,  the  dense  clouds  of  steam  are  borne  away  on  the  winds, 
shimmering  with  rainbows  and  swaying  in  a  thousand  broken  and  irregular  forms. 
The  turmoil  attending  this  grand  spectacle  is  as  the  roar  of  artillery,  the  galloping 
of  a  cavalry-charge,  or  the  sweep  of  a  tornado  through  the  air.  The  performance 
lasts  for  about  an  hour  and  a  half ;  during  the  latter  portion  of  the  time,  however, 
the  emission  consisting  principally  of  steam.  The  force  of  the  discharge  may  be 
appreciated  in  the  fact  that  heavy  rocks  thrown  into  the  ascending  flood  are  furled 
many  feet  into  the  air.  The  amazing  beauty  of  such  a  sight  as  this  is  beyond  the 
power  of  words  to  describe,  and  all  that  can  be  done  is  merely  to  indicate  the  im- 
pression it  makes  on  the  most  unsusceptible  minds. 

We  have  only  attempted  to  notice  the  principal  geysers  of  the  basin,  though 
smaller  ones  exist  by  the  hundred,  spouting  intermittently  throughout  the  whole  of 
this  region.  The  volcanic  force  which  underlies  these  phenomena  is  now  failing  in 
activity,  and,  a  thousand  or  two  years  hence,  the  geysers  will  probably  cease  to  be. 
What  the  terrible  grandeur  of  this  region  must  have  been  once,  when  the  internal 


THE   YELLOWSTONE   VALLEY. 


175 


forces  were  at   their  greatest,  can   hardly  be  reached   by  the   wildest  stretch   of  the 
imagination. 

We  owe  to  Chevalier  Bunsen,  who  united  so  happily  the  gifts  of  the  savant  and 
diplomatist,  the  true  theory  of  geyser-eruptions,  founded  on  a  study  of  the  Iceland 
geysers  nearly  forty  years  ago.  He  proved  by  a  series  of  careful  experiments  that  the 
heat  of  the  water  in  the  geyser-tube  varies  at  different  depths,  and  also  at  different 


Yellowstone  Lake. 

periods  between  two  eruptions,  the  change  always  taking  place  in  the  same  manner, 
and  with  considerable  regularity.  Immediately  before  the  eruption  the  greatest  heat 
at  the  bottom  of  the  well  was  discovered  to  be  about  sixteen  degrees  less  than  what 
would  be  the  boiling-point  of  water  at  that  depth.  The  water,  therefore,  in  no  part 
of  the  tube  was  hot  enough  to  generate  steam  under  the  conditions.  But  the  higher 
you  ascend  in  the  tube  the  lower  is  the  temperature  at  which  water  will  boil.  If, 
then,  the  column  be  thrown  up  by  the  generation  of  steam  in  the  under-ground  chan- 
nels, the  water  at  the  bottom  of  the  tube,  which  is  near  the  boiling-point,  is  brought 
to  a  height  where  it  is  sufficiently  relieved  from  pressure  to  be  converted  into  steam. 
The  water  in  the  tube  is  lifted  still  higher  till  the  steam  condenses  by  contact  with 
the  cooler  water,  to  which  it  imparts  its  latent  heat.  Each  condensation  makes  a 
loud  report — the  explosion  which  precedes  eruption.  By  successive  efforts,  enough 
of  the  weight  of  the  water  above  is  thrown  off  to  raise  nearly  all  the  water  in  the 
tube  to  the  boiling-point,  until  at  last  the  relief  from  pressure  permits  the  contents 
of  the  tube  to  be  ejected  into  the  air  to  a  greater  or  less  height,  according  to  the 
volume  of  the  steam  which  acts  as  the  lifting  power. 


176  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

From  the  geyser-region  to  the  Yellowstone  Lake  the  easiest  trail  or  route  is  to 
return  by  the  Lower  Basin,  thence  across  to  the  Mud  Geyser,  and  so  up  the  west 
bank  of  the  Yellowstone  River  to  one  of  the  most  charming  sheets  of  water  on  the 
continent.  The  distance  is  easily  within  a  day's  ride,  and  both  the  scenery  and  at- 
mosphere are  delightful.  Suddenly  we  emerge  from  the  heavy  forest,  shaded  by  high 
mountains,  into  a  picturesque,  grassy  park  in  which  lies  this  famous  lake — for  so  it 
has  become  by  virtue  of  its  beauty,  however  capacity  for  wonder  and  pleasure  may 
have  been  blunted  by  the  strange  sights  which  are  so  thickly  scattered  throughout 
this  region.  This  mountain  reservoir  is  about  fifteen  miles  in  width,  and  twenty  or 
twenty-five  miles  in  length.  The  shores  are  indented  with  bays  and  inlets  which  are 
fringed  with  pine-forests,  that  contain  now  and  then  a  meadow-like  opening,  to  add 
to  the  variety  and  beauty  of  the  scene.  Mr.  Langford,  for  many  years  the  superin- 
tendent of  the  park,  thus  describes  the  beauties  of  this  inland  sea : 

"  Secluded  amid  the  loftiest  peaks  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  possessing  strange 
peculiarities  of  form  and  beauty,  this  watery  solitude  is  one  of  the  most  attractive 
objects  in  the  world.  Its  southern  shore,  indented  with  long,  narrow  inlets,  not 
unlike  the  frequent  fiords  of  Iceland,  bears  testimony  to  the  awful  upheaval  and 
tremendous  force  of  the  elements  which  resulted  in  its  erection.  The  long  pine- 
crowned  promontories,  stretching  into  it  from  the  base  of  the  hills,  lend  new  and 
charming  features  to  an  aquatic  scene  full  of  novelty  and  splendor.  Islands  of 
emerald  hue  dot  its  surface,  and  a  margin  of  sparkling  sand  forms  its  setting.  The 
winds,  compressed  in  their  passage  through  the  mountain-gorges,  lash  it  into  a  sea 
as  terrible  as  the  fretted  ocean,  covering  it  with  foam.  But  now  it  lay  before  us 
calm  and  unruffled,  save  as  the  gentle  wavelets  broke  in  murmurs  along  the  shore. 
Water,  one  of  the  grandest  elements  of  scenery,  never  seemed  so  beautiful  before." 

This  lake  reposes  on  the  crown  of  our  North  American  Continent,  near  the  sources 
of  three  great  rivers  of  the  United  States,  at  a  height  of  nearly  seven  thousand  five 
hundred  feet,  far  above  the  loftiest  clouds  that  cast  their  shadows  over  New  England 
homes,  or  float  in  the  blue  sky  of  the  sunny  South.  Professor  Hayden,  who  made 
the  first  scientific  survey  of  the  Yellowstone  region,  thus  speaks  of  the  lake  : 

"  On  the  28th  of  July  (1871),  we  arrived  at  the  lake,  and  pitched  our  camp  on 
the  northwest  shore  in  a  beautiful  grassy  meadow,  or  opening,  among  the  pines.  The 
lake  lay  before  us,  a  vast  sheet  of  quiet  water,  of  a  most  delicate  ultramarine  hue, 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  objects  I  ever  beheld.  The  entire  party  were  filled  with 
enthusiasm.  The  great  object  of  all  our  labors  had  been  reached,  and  we  were  amply 
repaid  for  all  our  toils.  Such  a  vision  is  worth  a  life-time,  and  only  one  of  such 
marvelous  beauty  will  ever  greet  human  eyes.  From  whatever  point  of  view  one  may 
behold  it,  it  presents  a  unique  picture.  We  had  brought  up  the  frame-work  of  a 
boat,  twelve  feet  long  and  three  and  a  half  feet  wide,  which  we  covered  with  stout 
ducking,  well  tarred.  On  the  morning  of  the  29th  inst.,  Messrs.  Stephenson  and 
Elliot  started  across  the  lake  in  the  Anna,  the  first  boat  ever  launched  on  the  Yel- 
lo  ^stone,  and  explored  the  nearest  island,  which  we  named  after  the  principal  assist- 


THE   YELLOWSTONE    VALLEY. 


177 


ant  of  the  expedition,  who  was  undoubtedly  the  first  white  man  that  ever  set  foot  on 
it.  ...  Usually  in  the  morning  the  surface  of  the  lake  is  calm,  but,  toward  noon 
and  after,  the  waves  begin  to  roll,  and  the  white  caps  rise  high,  some  four  or  five 
feet.  Our  little  boat  rode  the  waves  well ;  but,  when  a  strong  breeze  blew,  the  swell 
was  too  great,  and  we  could  only  venture  along  the  shore.  The  lake  is  about  twenty- 
two  miles  in  length  from  north  to  south,  and  an  average  of  ten  to  fifteen  miles  in 
width  from  east  to  west.  It  has  been  aptly  compared  to  the  human  hand ;  the 
northern  portion  would  constitute  the  palm,  while  the  southern  prolongations  or  arms 
might  represent  the  fingers.  There  are  some  of  the  most  beautiful  shore-lines  along 


Hot-Spriny  Cone. 

the  lake  that  I  ever  saw.  Some  of  the  curves  are  as  perfect  as  if  drawn  by  the  hand 
of  art.  Our  little  boat  performed  most  excellent  service.  A  suitable  frame-work  was 
provided  in  the  stern  for  lead  and  line,  and  a  system  of  soundings  was  made  that 
gave  a  very  fair  idea  of  the  average  depth  of  the  lake.  The  greatest  depth  discovered 
was  three  hundred  feet.  It  is  fed  by  the  melting  of  the  snows  on  the  lofty  mount- 
ains that  surround  it  on  every  side.  The  water  of  the  lake  has  at  all  seasons  nearly 
the  temperature  of  cold  spring-water.  The  most  accomplished  swimmer  could  live  but  a 
short  time  in  it ;  the  dangers  attending  the  navigation  of  it  are  thereby  greatly  increased. 
The  lake  abounds  in  salmon-trout,  and  is  visited  by  great  numbers  of  wild  fowl." 

12 


178  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

Professor  Hayden  tells  us  that  on  some  portions  of  the  lake  -  shore  hot  springs, 
with  their  funnel-shaped  craters,  project  out  into  the  deep  waters  of  the  lake.  Stand- 
ing on  one  of  these  mounds,  he  caught  trout  in  the  lake,  and  dropped  them  into  the 
boiling  water,  where  they  were  perfectly  cooked  without  being  taken  off  the  hook. 
The  forests  surrounding  the  lake  abound  with  bear,  deer,  elk,  and  other  noble  game, 
and  offer  the  most  attractive  inducements  to  the  hunter. 

But  we  can  not  linger  much  longer  over  this  fascinating  region.  When  the 
Northern  Pacific  Hallway  is  completed,  pilgrims  in  search  of  the  beautiful  and  won- 
derful from  all  portions  of  the  world  will  resort  hither.  The  climate  is  most  pure 
and  invigorating  during  three  months  of  the  year,  with  scarcely  any  rains  or  storms. 
But  the  thermometer  often  sinks  as  low  as  twenty-six  degrees,  and  there  is  more  or 
less  frost  every  month  of  the  year.  As  a  place  of  summer  resort  for  invalids  as  well 
as  for  mere  tourists,  it  is  believed  that  it  will  scarcely  be  surpassed  by  any  portion  of 
the  world.  By  the  congressional  act,  which  created  this  region  a  national  park,  pro- 
vision was  made  for  beautifying  it  in  all  ways  consistent  with  the  natural  loveliness 
and  grandeur  which  it  so  richly  possesses.  The  earliest  tourists,  who  were  drawn  to 
the  Yellowstone  Valley  by  reports  of  its  wonders,  met  with  thrilling  adventures  with 
the  hostile  Indians  ;  and  those  who,  ten  years  hence,  are  able  to  find  luxurious  hotel 
accommodation,  as  seems  now  probable,  will  hardly  be  able  to  persuade  themselves 
that  the  lovers  of  the  beautiful,  who,  only  a  quarter  of  a  century  before,  penetrated 
hither,  had  literally  to  fight  their  way  in  and  out  through  a  cordon  of  fierce 


SKETCHES   OF   INDIAN   LIFE. 

The  red-man  of  the  plains— The  Indian  dandy  at  the  trading-post — How  the  post-trader  treats  the  savage — Condi- 
tion and  traits  of  Indian  women — An  Indian  carnival — Religion  and  customs — Funerals,  and  the  Indian  rever- 
ence for  the  dead — Love-making — The  Indian  as  a  hunter — Methods  of  pursuing  the  elk — Buffalo  and  moose 
hunting — Getting  salmon  on  the  Columbia  River — The  craft  and  skill  of  the  red-man. 

IN  our  wanderings  over  the  plains  and  mountains,  and  among  the  forests  of  the 
great  West,  the  red-men,  whether  lounging  in  peaceful  guise  on  their  reservations, 
or  scouring  the  wilderness  in  their  war-paint  on  the  hunt  for  scalps  or  plunder,  can 
not  fail  to  be  of  great  interest,  though  an  interest  oftentimes  mixed  with  disgust, 
fear,  and  wrath — sometimes,  perhaps,  it  may  be,  with  pity  and  regret.  The  victims 
of  a  treatment  which  appears  to  be  common  in  the  history  of  the  world,  wherever  a 
superior  race  comes  in  contact  with  a  weaker  one,  they  have  much  to  justify  the  fre- 
quent outbreaks  and  frontier  wars  which  make  life  and  property  in  certain  portions 
of  the  far  West  so  insecure.  Yet  actual  contact  with  the  Indian  in  his  daily  modes 
of  life  is  far  from  begetting  respect  or  liking,  however  much  we  may  be  interested  or 
amused.  It  is  not  our  purpose  now  to  consider  the  red-man  as  a  warrior  or  the 
avenger  of  wrongs,  but  to  look  at  him  in  his  pacific  aspects.  We  shall  find  that, 
however  brutal  and  repulsive  he  may  be  in  many  ways,  there  is  yet  a  good  deal  of 
universal  human  nature  in  this  "image  of  God"  cast  in  red  bronze. 

Foremost  among  the  acquired  traits  of  the  Indian  is  his  passionate  fondness  for 
fire-water.  For  a  good  supply  of  this  he  is  willing  to  part  with  his  buffalo-robes,  his 
ponies,  his  squaw,  even  his  rifle,  the  possession  of  all  dearest  to  his  heart.  To  get 
drunk  is  the  paradise  of  the  half-civilized  Indian,  who  may  be  seen  hanging  around 
the  forts  and  trading-posts,  and  the  dispenser  of  the  delicious  beverage  commands 
more  of  his  admiration  and  homage  than  the  Great  White  Father  at  Washington.  Of 
course,  there  are  occasional  exceptions  to  this  rule,  but  the  Indian  who  does  not  love 
the  inebriating  cup  is  a  rare  being. 

The  visits  of  the  red-men  to  the  trading-posts  or  forts  often  afford  many  amusing 
incidents,  and  give  singular  glimpses  of  the  whimsical  notions  of  this  untutored  peo- 
ple. Next  to  the  love  of  whisky,  his  fondness  for  showy  garments  is  the  most  pre- 
dominant quality.  He  is  prone  to  seize  on  any  cast-off  garment,  any  stray  feather  or 
ornament  he  can  find,  beg,  borrow,  or  steal,  and  with  huge  delight  adorn  his  dusky 
person  with  it  without  delay.  A  dandy  is  not  exclusively  the  product  of  civilized 


180 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


life.  The  most  degraded  phases  of  Indian  life  are  made  amusing  and  ridiculous  by 
genuine  fops  whose  self-conceit  overtops  the  "howling  swells"  who  parade  in  Fifth 
Avenue,  New  York,  or  Hyde  Park,  London.  A  "  warrior "  chief  on  a  strut  is  a 


Indian  Dandy. 

fair  rival  for  the  most  puffed-up  turkey-cock  that  ever  gobbled  in  a  farmer's  barn- 
yard, though  there  is  something  formidable  in  the  Indian's  vanity,  as  it  lies  close  to 
blind  ferocity  when  crossed  or  offended.  The  illustration  of  an  Indian  dandy  which 


SKETCHES   OF  INDIAN  LIFE.  181 

we  give  was  drawn  from  the  life  at  a  reservation  trading-post  in  the  far  West.  It 
represents  a  youth  of  twenty,  who  has  accompanied  his  tribe  to  the  fascinating  place. 
From  the  proceeds  of  his  mother's  industry  or  some  little  labor  of  his  own,  perhaps 
as  a  gift  from  some  good-natured  white  man,  our  copper-skinned  dandy  finds  himself 
in  possession  of  an  old  uniform  coat  with  epaulets  and  brass  buttons,  a  bottle  of 
whisky,  and  other  civilized  articles.  His  fine  figure,  well-made  lithe  limbs,  and  per- 
fect satisfaction  with  himself,  give  a  most  grotesque  and  droll  aspect  to  this  display. 
The  strutting  fellow  looks  around  with  eager  eyes  to  notice  the  gaze  of  envy  and 
admiration  which  he  thinks  his  due.  And  the  other  Indian  idlers  do  not  fail  to  look 
on  this  glorious  and  favored  being  with  unconcealed  longing.  One  old  "stager," 
inspired  with  an  ambition  to  shine,  has  borrowed  a  Scotch  cap,  an  article  which  the 
Indians  delight  in,  and,  crowned  with  this  article  of  distinction  and  a  huge  club,  he 
waddles  on  in  the  rear  of  his  younger  and  more  shining  rival.  The  most  offensive 
Indian  fop  is  found  among  the  male  relations  of  some  Indian  belle  who  has  married 
a  white  man,  especially  if  the  latter  has  a  store  or  is  the  agent  of  a  fur  company. 
At  all  seasons  these  hungry  and  thirsty  expectants  hang  about  like  a  flock  of  turkey- 
buzzards,  anxious  for  such  trifling  favors  as  fire-water,  sugar,  coffee,  and  similar  gifts, 
which  the  great  man  has  the  power  of  bestowing. 

The  store  of  a  trading-post  illustrates  the  method  of  the  white  man's  average 
dealings  with  his  red  brethren.  Here  we  often  find  a  number  of  hard-working  squaws 
who  present  themselves  with  a  load  of  peltries  or  dressed  furs,  the  result  of  an  entire 
season's  hard  toil,  of  hunting  or  trapping  on  the  part  of  the  "buck";  of  curing, 
drying,  and  tanning  on  the  part  of  the  woman.  The  buffalo,  beaver,  otter,  mink, 
and  other  furs,  are  beautifully  dressed,  mayhap  wrought  with  beads  and  stitched 
work.  These  tasteful  specimens  of  the  forest  mother's  and  maiden's  handiwork  are 
given  to  the  heartless  swindling  trader  for  a  few  ounces  of  brown  sugar,  and  that  of 
such  vile  quality  that  it  seems  to  practiced  eyes  like  mere  grains  of  sand,  stained 
with  molasses.  The  poor  women,  all  of  whom  have  a  sweet  tooth,  and  completely 
ignorant  of  the  true  value  of  sugar  as  they  are  of  that  of  the  splendid  robes  and  furs, 
which  will  ultimately  display  their  beauty  in  Central  Park,  New  York,  or  on  the 
winter  drives  of  European  capitals,  gladly  assent  to  the  bargain.  In  lieu  of  pockets, 
satchels,  and  similar  conveniences,  the  squaws  tie  the  precious  article  up  in  small 
parcels  in  the  corners  of  their  blankets.  The  full  wickedness  of  the  trader's  bargain 
oftentimes  does  not  stop  here.  As  he  measures  out  his  thickened  treacle,  according 
to  frontier  commercial  usage  when  dealing  with  Indians,  he  inserts  his  three  fingers 
into  the  shallow  cup,  which  is  the  standard  of  measure,  and  only  gives  what  little 
substance  finds  room  in  the  small  space,  not  already  occupied  in  this  ingenious  but 
base  fashion.  While  all  this  is  going  on,  the  Indian  warriors  or  braves,  as  they  call 
themselves,  lounge  about,  as  seemingly  unconscious  of  what  is  going  on  as  if  they  were 
so  many  bronze  statues.  They  look  disdainfully  on  all  traffic,  and  would  not  degrade 
themselves  by  showing  the  slightest  interest  in  matters  of  the  shop,  things  only  fit  to 
be  indulged  in,  they  say,  by  the  women. 


182 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


An  Indian  trading-post  may  be  generally  characterized  as  the  headquarters  of  a 
gang  of  robbers  and  swindlers,  licensed  by  the  United  States  Government  to  steal  and 
cheat,  the  victims  of  these  operations  being  those  whom  the  Government  professes  to 
consider  its  wards,  and  whom  it  is  under  obligations  to  protect.  It  may  be  safely 


Store  of  the  Trading-Pent. 

asserted  that,  if  any  white  man  should  attempt  the  same  things  among  his  own  race, 
he  would  not  long  be  out  of  State  -  prison.  Stoical  and  unobserving  as  the  red-men 
appear  to  be,  they  have  long  since  learned  that  the  white  man  looks  on  them  in  his 
commercial  dealings  as  mere  objects  of  plunder,  and  it  is  not  strange  that  in  their 
outbreaks  their  untutored  minds  should  see  no  harm  in  driving  off  the  white  man's 
cattle  from  his  ranch.  If  the  victims  of  this  retaliation  were  only  and  always  the  ras- 
cally traders,  there  would  be  no  disposition  among  just-minded  people  to  do  aught  but 
to  clap  the  Indian  on  his  back.  But,  unfortunately,  the  innocent  have  to  pay  gener- 
ally for  the  misdeeds  of  the  guilty.  It  is  not  our  purpose  or  province  to  discuss  in 
any  way  the  Indian  problem,  which  has  for  so  many  years  perplexed  the  country ;  but 
this  may  be  said  in  passing :  if  all  the  massacres,  cruelty,  and  bloody  barbarism  of  the 
Indian  were  put  in  one  balance,  and  all  the  perfidy,  heartless  oppression,  and  villainy 


SKETCHES  OF  INDIAN  LIFE. 


183 


of  the  white  man  in  the  other  balance,  the  scale,  if  it  inclined  either  way,  would  be 
in  favor  of  the  red-man. 

The  condition  of  the  gentler  sex  is  always  a  sure  test  of  the  progress  of  a  race. 
All  barbarians  are  the  same  in  this  respect.  As  a  nation  advances  in  wealth,  refine- 
ment, and  moral  qualities,  woman  assumes  her  position  as  companion  and  equal. 
When  she  belongs  to  the  lower  races,  she  is  literally  a  slave.  In  her  domestic  life, 
the  Indian  woman  is  the  worker.  She  dresses  the  skins,  which  make  the  clothing 
and  tent-covering,  she  tills  the  ground  and  gathers  the  crops,  if  there  be  any  tillage 
of  the  earth,  which  is  not  common  among  the  Western  tribes,  though  it  was  among 


Women  Water- Carriers. 

the  tribes  of  the  Eastern  coast ;  she  hews  the  wood,  draws  the  water,  cooks  the  meals, 
and  performs  all  kinds  of  menial  labor.  When  her  tribe  moves,  she  attends  to  the 
striking  of  the  wigwam,  and  the  packing  up  of  all  the  property.  She  often  carries, 
in  addition  to  her  household  traps,  an  infant  child,  or  papoose,  as  it  is  called,  in  a 
wicker  basket,  held  to  her  back  by  a  broad  strap,  that  passes  across  the  forehead. 
Thus  burdened,  she  trudges  on  patiently  in  the  rear  of  the  cavalcade,  driving  on  the 
cattle  and  mustang  ponies  in  front  of  her.  In  the  mean  time,  the  braves,  mounted 
on  fleet  horses,  gallop  along  in  ease  and  independence,  as  if  their  lordly  minds  were 
unvexed  by  a  single  earthly  care. 


184 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


As  great  as  is  the  necessity  of  water,  Indians  seldom  encamp  directly  on  the  bank 
of  a  stream.  The  result  is,  that  the  labor  of  the  women,  children,  and  dogs,  of 
which  animal  the  Indian  always  has  many,  is  greatly  enhanced,  in  their  duty  of 
supplying  the  lodges  with  the  most  important  of  the  needs  of  life.  The  modes  used 
are  primitive  in  an  extreme  degree.  Large  earthen  pots,  which  they  manufacture 
with  no  inconsiderable  skill,  are  triced  on  poles,  the  opposite  ends  of  which  are  fast- 
ened to  the  sides  of  a  dog,  and  thus  the  faithful  animal  is  made  of  some  practical 
use.  The  children  walk  in  procession  to  and  from  the  river,  each  carrying  a  jar. 
To  the  young  women  of  the  tribe  are  intrusted  the  horses,  which,  relieved  for  the 
time  of  their  hopples,  are  driven  in  droves  to  drink.  In  performing  this  last  task, 
many  of  the  young  squaws,  mounting  bareback,  often  race  side  by  side,  showing  splen- 
did equestrian  skill,  the  literal  personation  of  rival  Amazons  in  living  bronze. 


Indian  Women  Bathing. 

Though  Indian  women  are  frequently  not  a  whit  more  cleanly  than  their  lazy 
lords  and  masters,  who  seem  to  enjoy  being  overrun  with  vermin  rather  than  other- 
wise, yet  they  are  fond  of  the  pleasures  of  bathing.  It  is  under  such  circumstance* 
that  they  make  their  most  careful  toilet.  The  scene  often  presents  many  novel  feat- 


SKETCHES   OF  INDIAN  LIFE.  185 

ures.  The  mothers,  while  enjoying  the  bath,  ornament  the  trees  and  shrubs  about 
with  their  infants,  which  in  their  stiff  bandages  dangle  from  the  branches,  rocked  to 
sleep  by  the  wind.  The  old  and  middle-aged  women  are  generally  so  deformed  by 
hard  labor  and  privation  as  to  be  precious  specimens  of  human  ugliness,  and  can 
scarcely  be  recognized  as  being  of  the  same  race  as  the  lithe  and  graceful  young 
squaws,  who  often  present  forms  of  the  most  exquisite  beauty  and  symmetry — forms 
which,  never  having  been  subjected  to  the  distortion  of  civilized  dress,  have  grown  in 
that  perfect  mold  which  has  come  down  to  us  in  the  Greek  sculpture.  While  the 
women  are  thus  engaged  in  their  •aquatic  sports,  grave  old  men,  warriors  of  established 
position,  armed  with  bow  and  arrow,  or  rifle,  keep  guard  on  the  bank  not  far  away. 
And  woe  be  to  the  curious  young  brave  who  would  play  the  part  of  Peeping  Tom  ! 
For  he  would  certainly  run  the  risk  of  getting  a  missile  in  a  vulnerable  if  not  vital 
portion  of  his  person. 

The  old  squaws,  during  the  whole  history  of  Indian  warfare,  have  shown  them- 
selves to  be  more  hard  and  merciless  than  even  the  warriors.  In  their  treatment  of 
prisoners  they  surpass  the  bloodiest  contrivances  of  their  lords,  and  the  cruellest  sug- 
gestions have  come  from  these  old  hags,  who,  on  account  of  their  age  and  their 
superior  ingenuity  in  torment,  enjoy  at  such  times  a  certain  respect  not  usually  ac- 
corded to  their  sex.  Yet,  as  hard  and  callous  as  the  Indian  woman  becomes  by  age 
and  the  suggestions  of  savage  warfare,  one  observes  among  the  younger  ones  at  ordinary 
times  exhibitions  of  the  caressing  love  and  tenderness  which  have  been  such  a  sweet 
phase  of  the  feminine  nature  in  all  ages  of  the  world.  The  love  of  the  Indian 
mother  for  her  children  shows  itself  in  much  the  same  way  as  that  of  the  civilized 
mother.  She  fondles  and  kisses  and  talks  to  her  babe  with  the  same  devotion,  and 
seems  to  find  in  the  gratification  of  these  maternal  instincts  an  alleviation  of  the 
stern  and  harsh  conditions  of  her  life.  Her  pride  in  her  offspring  has  often  been 
commented  on  by  visitors  to  Indian  encampments.  While  the  young  urchins  are 
practicing  with  the  bow  and  arrow,  the  mothers  often  squat  about,  discussing  the 
merits  of  the  little  archers.  When  any  one  makes  an  extraordinary  shot,  the  mother 
will  hug  him  in  a  transport  of  pleasure,  just  as  the  white  woman  will  caress  her 
child  when  he  has  done  something  which  gives  her  peculiar  pleasure. 

Occasionally,  in  times  of  peace,  a  frontier  fort,  especially  if  bounties  are  about  to 
be  paid,  is  a  very  lively  place.  Then  one  may  see  thousands  of  lodges,  and  often 
five  times  as  many  Indians  together,  as  they  flock  in  from  their  reservation  in  great 
numbers.  It  is  common,  on  such  occasions,  for  the  red-men  to  make  a  grand  display 
before  the  pale-faces,  and  they  enter  into  a  sort  of  Indian  carnival ;  for  great  joy  and 
hilarity  are  abroad,  in  anticipation  of  the  annual  presents  from  the  Great  AVhite 
Father.  On  these  occasions  the  Indians  will  part  with  nearly  everything — blankets, 
fur  robes,  and  necessary  clothing — to  buy  trinkets  and  many-colored  paints  for  the 
exhibition.  The  wild  and  grotesque  dresses  of  the  savages  on  these  occasions  make 
a  very  striking  picture.  Headed  by  a  sort  of  grand-marshal,  and  divided  into  organ- 
ized parties,  the  gayly  dressed  savages  bear  aloft  at  their  lance-heads  their  insignia, 


186 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


consisting  of  tufts  of  party-colored  threads,  each  one  marking  the  division  to  which  it 
belongs  with  the  same  precision  that  flags  and  banners  do  among  civilized  people. 
Every  possible  fantasy  is  indulged  in — masks  made  of  the  enormous  skin  and  beard 


g 

•s 


of  the  buffalo-bull ;  plumes  of  the  most  brilliant  feathers ;  togas  of  brilliantly  stained 
and  painted  robes,  thrown  gracefully  across  the  shoulders ;  flowing  head-dresses,  and 
waist-cloths  that  seem  to  be  fashioned  in  shape  and  wearing  after  the  sculptures  of 
Karnac  and  Thebes.  So  these  fantastically  painted  and  costumed  human  serpents 


SKETCHES   OF  INDIAN  LIFE.  187 

dash  and  prance,  leap  and  run,  engage  in  mimic  combats,  now  as  individuals,  now  as 
parties,  and  give  them  up  to  the  most  wild  and  reckless  enjoyment.  Every  possible 
idea  of  the  queer  and  fantastic  seems  to  be  exhausted  ;  yet,  amid  all  this  rollicking 
barbarism,  one  notices  many  an  Indian  Apollo,  whose  figure,  drapery,  and  fine  poses, 
would  make  him  a  fit  subject  for  the  chisel  of  a  Phidias  or  a  Canova. 

It  is  singular  that,  among  the  North  American  Indians,  there  has  never  been  dis- 
covered any  trace  of  idol-worship,  though  in  the  tribes  of  Mexico,  Central  and  South- 
ern America  idolatry  in  its  most  cruel  and  repulsive  shapes  existed.  The  fancy  that 
the  red  Indians  were  the  descendants  of  the  ten  lost  tribes  of  Israel,  which  has  found 
favor  with  many,  got  its  strength,  in  part,  from  the  fact  that  the  Indians,  like  the 
Jews,  never  attempt  to  represent  God  in  any  visible  form,  or  carry  images  about  with 
them  as  charms.  Yet,  in  spite  of  this,  the  Indians  are  among  the  most  superstitious 
of  races,  and  see  in  every  strange  event  some  movement  from  the  supernatural  world. 
They  call  God  "The  Great  Spirit."  Him  they  believe  to  be  always  good,  and  about 
his  mercy  they  have  no  doubt.  But  they  believe  that  it  is  constantly  necessary  to 
perform  acts  of  severest  penance  and  sacrifice  to  soften  the  malice  and  hate  of  the 
evil  spirits  which  are  constantly  at  work  to  make  the  lives  of  men  miserable.  So 
they  trust  in  omens,  and  their  "medicine-men,"  who  act  as  their  priests,  are  as  absurd 
in  their  demands  on  the  credulity  of  their  ignorant  followers  as  the  "fetich "-men 
among  the  African  negroes.  The  red-man  believes  he  gets  hints  of  the  future  through 
the  flight  of  birds,  the  rustling  of  the  leaves  of  trees,  the  tints  of  the  setting  sun, 
and  a  thousand  other  natural  signs.  They  are  given  to  sacrifices  and  self-punish- 
ments ;  and  they  never  go  out  on  any  of  their  great  animal  hunts,  or  enter  on  the 
war-path,  without  going  through  a  series  of  ablutions,  fastings,  and  often  laceration 
of  the  body.  A  striking  example  of  this  is  in  the  annual  sun-dance  of  the  Sioux 
and  some  other  tribes.  The  young  men,  who  are  about  to  become  warriors  and  go 
on  the  war-path,  drive  sharply-pointed  stakes  into  the  ground,  and  impale  themselves 
by  the  arms  or  through  the  fleshy  parts  of  the  chest.  They  then  struggle,  and 
writhe,  and  pull,  till  they  have  torn  themselves  loose,  or  else  faint  away,  from  pain 
and  loss  of  blood. 

Boys  who  have  reached  the  age  of  fourteen,  and  desire  to  be  admitted  to  the 
society  of  their  elders,  are  obliged  to  give  some  test  of  their  endurance.  They 
prove  their  ability  to  go  without  food,  to  bear  the  roughest  exposure,  and  to  con- 
ceal physical  pain  with  the  utmost  stoicism.  One  thing  required  of  the  candidate 
for  manly  honors  is,  that  he  shall  adorn  his  head  with  the  plume  of  an  eagle 
that  has  lost  its  life  without  the  shedding  of  its  blood.  To  perform  this  difficult 
task  the  young  man  builds  a  decoy  on  some  high  peak  known  to  be  visited  by 
the  king  of  birds.  Concealed  in  his  hiding-place,  he  patiently  awaits  the  com- 
ing of  the  eagle.  While  thus  engaged  he  must  eat  no  food  ;  and  instances  are 
known  where  the  young  brave  has  found  his  hiding-place  his  grave.  Even  when 
successful,  the  young  Indian's  contest  with  the  eagle  is  no  trifling  exploit,  for  he 
must  seize  the  fierce  bird  with  his  unarmed  hands,  and  strangle  it  without  draw- 


188 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


ing  its  blood,  the  talons  and  beak  of  the  bird  often  inflicting  the  severest  wounds  on 
his  captor. 

So  from  first  to  last  the  Indian's  life  is  one  of  severe  self-mortification,  with  inter- 
vals of  the  greatest  license.  They  are  by  nature  moody  and  self-tormenting,-  and 
hence,  perhaps,  their  fondness  for  drinking.  Whisky  arouses  their  energies,  fires  their 
imaginations,  and  takes  them  into  dream-land — perhaps,  indeed,  turns  them  into  fiends  ; 
and  only  in  this  drunken  frenzy,  or  perhaps  in  the  excitement  of  battle,  is  the  Indian 
ever  lifted  out  of  his  stoical  calm.  He  meets  death  with  firmness,  for  his  life  has 
been  one  of  suffering  and  pain,  and  he  has  been  taught  that  he  will  be  made  per- 
fectly happy  in  the  glorious  hunting-grounds  of  the  future  state,  where,  armed  with 
his  trusty  weapons,  and  accompanied  by  his  faithful  horse,  he  will  enjoy  eternal  bliss. 

The  funeral,  therefore,  of  the  Indian  partakes  of  these  ideas.  Instantly  he  dies 
his  friends  proceed  to  make  such  preparations  as  will  be  most  meet  to  prepare  the 


i 


Indian  Funeral. 


dead  man  for  his  long  journey.  He  must  not  go  empty-handed.  If  a  warrior,  he 
has  his  weapons,  his  insignia  of  rank,  his  trophies  won  in  the  chase  and  on  the  war- 
path ;  he  must  make  a  good  appearance  when  he  arrives  in  the  Blessed  Land. 

When  a  sick  warrior  is  past  recovery,  the  young  men  start  for  the  prairies,  kill  a 
buffalo-bull,  and  secure  the  hide.  On  this  the  dead  body  is  laid,  and  with  it  the 
gun,  bow,  quiver  of  arrows,  lance,  tomahawk,  and  other  implements  of  the  departed 
brave.  Choice  food  for  a  long  journey  is  also  placed  in  the  hide,  and  then  all  are 


SKETCHES   OF  INDIAN  LIFE. 


197 


This  method  is  pursued  only  when  the  buffaloes  are  few  in  numbers,  and  wary 
from  repeated  hunts.  Occasionally  great  herds  will  move  toward  an  Indian  village, 
and  then  the  red  hunters  slay  with  the  blood-thirstiness  of  tigers.  Possibly,  some 
stray  animals  may  be  surprised  within  sight  of  a  lodge.  On  such  occasions,  young 
warriors  show  their  courage  .and  fleetness  by  pursuing  the  animals  on  foot.  The 
scene  is  spirited,  and,  if  it  could  be  transferred  to  the  painter's  canvas,  we  should 
have  a  naked  Apollo,  graceful  in  action,  perfect  in  form,  to  contrast  with  the  huge 
and  terrible-looking  game. 

What  the  buffalo  is  to  the  Indian  of  the  Plains,  the  salmon  is  to  the  tribes  that 
live  on  the  Columbia  River  and  its  tributaries.  These  streams  are  remarkable  for 
the  plentifulness  of  their  finny  inhabitants.  Those  who  have  never  witnessed  the 
extraordinary  quantity  of  fish  which,  at  certain  seasons  of  the  year,  crowd  the  wa- 


CatcMng  Salmon  in  the  Columbia  River. 

ters  of  some  of  the  rivers  of  our  Pacific  coast,  can  not  understand  their  abundance 
through  any  mere  description.  The  salmon  enter  the  mouth  of  the  Columbia  in 
May,  and  work  their  way  up  the  stream,  in  immense  shoals,  for  a  distance  of  twelve 


198  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

hundred  miles,  often  being  found  in  September  at  the  very  head-waters  of  the  river. 
The  young  fry  pass  to  the  sea  in  October,  when  they  are  nearly  as  large  as  herrings. 
Different  species  of  salmon  have  their  different  localities,  and  the  Indians,  by  a  casual 
glance,  will  tell  correctly  in  what  particular  part  of  the  interior  waters  the  salmon 
were  spawned.  The  same  thing  is  also  true  of  shad.  A  very  little  observation  will 
enable  any  intelligent  person  to  select  those  from  the  Potomac,  the  Delaware,  the 
Hudson,  or  the  Connecticut  Rivers.  Each  stream  stamps  its  local  character  on  its 
finny  inhabitants — the  result  of  a  wonderful  law  of  Nature.  The  salmon  makes  the 
principal  food  for  thousands  of  Indians  inhabiting  the  northern  portion  of  our  conti- 
nent, besides  affording  a  great  supply  for  all  the  white  people  of  Oregon  and  Califor- 
nia, and  furnishing  immense  quantities  for  exportation  to  the  fish-markets  of  New 
York  and  the  East.  The  immense  salmon-canning  establishments  on  the  Columbia 
have  become,  too,  an  important  branch  of  industry,  employing  thousands  of  people. 

To  the  Indians  of  the  Northwest  the  salmon  has  ever  been  looked  on  as  a  direct 
blessing  from  the  Great  Spirit,  associated  in  their  simple  minds  with  the  buffalo- 
herds  that  throng  the  Plains.  To  them  the  land  and  sea  were  crowded  with  the 
evidences  of  the  goodness  of  Providence.  Up  to  twenty-five  years  ago,  it  is  probable 
that  few  white  men  on  the  Pacific  coast,  out  of  respect  to  the  traditions  of  the  red- 
men,  and  fear  of  provoking  their  enmity,  had  ever  taken  a  salmon  from  its  native 
waters.  While  the  Indians  would  not  let  the  white  men  fish  at  all, 'they  themselves 
would  not  fish  for  some  days  after  the  first  appearance  of  the  fish  in  the  river,  lest 
they  should  show  an  undignified  haste  in  appropriating  the  blessing.  In  their 
primitive  state,  the  Indians  would  never  eat  a  salmon  without  first  taking  out  its 
heart,  which  they  carefully  kept,  till  they  had  a  chance  to  burn  it.  They  believe 
that,  if  the  heart,  which  is  considered  sacred,  were  eaten  by  a  dog,  or  otherwise 
defiled,  the  fish  would  never  return  to  the  river,  to  comfort  and  bless  them.  In  the 
fishing-season,  a  favorite  place  for  securing  the  coveted  game  is  at  the  foot  of  some 
gentle  fall  or  other  obstruction.  Here  the  salmon,  interrupted  in  their  progress 
inland,  often  pile  on  one  another,  till  those  on  the  surface  are  crowded  on  the  land. 
With  a  simple  hand-net  and  a  spear  the  Indians  will,  in  a  few  hours,  load  down 
their  canoes  with  the  finest  fish.  The  Oregon  Indians  have  been  so  corrupted  by 
their  contact  with  the  whites  that  they  have  lost  respect  for  their  traditions,  some 
of  which  were  of  a  gentle  and  refining  nature.  Their  regard  for  the  salmon,  the 
reverence  in  which  they  held  its  appearance,  their  days  of  abstinence  from  its  con- 
sumption, were  all  good  and  healthful  traits.  But  now,  those  of  the  tribes  who  hold 
any  intercourse  with  the  white  people  have  lost  regard  for  everything  but  gain. 
They  have  become  so  wickedly  wasteful  as  to  kill  the  noble  fish  recklessly,  and  often 
the  whole  air  for  miles,  in  the  vicinity  of  the  river,  is  tainted  with  the  decaying 
flesh.  But  of  this  something  has  already  been  said  before  in  an  earlier  chapter. 

The  Northern  Indians,  who  live  in  regions  frequented  by  the  moose,  in  that  vast 
reach  of  wilderness  which,  from  the  Mississippi  River  to  the  Pacific  Ocean,  stretches 
along  the  British  border,  find  in  this  splendid  game  a  substitute  for  the  buffalo, 


SKETCHES  OF  INDIAN  LIFE. 


199 


though  it  has  never  existed  in  numbers  at  all  equal.  Living  in  a  region  where  for  at 
least  half  the  year  the  earth  is  covered  with  snow,  the  moose  finds  himself  persecuted 
by  wild  beasts  and  wilder  men  without  ceasing.  Possibly  within  the  next  quarter  of 
a  century  this  splendid  animal  will  have  ceased  to  exist  within  the  present  boundaries 
of  the  United  States — a  fate  which  will  probably  be  that  of  the  elk  and  bison  also, 
unless  some  stringent  means  are  taken  to  check  their  wholesale  slaughter. 

Indians  take  advantage  of  the  cold  weather  to  drive  the  animal  into  the  snow- 
drifts,   where    it   becomes   a   comparatively   easy   capture.      So   long   as    the   earth   is 


KilUng  the  Snma-bound  Moose. 

uncovered  except  by  vegetation,  the  moose  roams  tolerably  free  from  his  many  foes, 
for  he  possesses,  in  an  eminent  degree,  the  wonderful  scent  which  belongs  to  the  deer 
family,  and  so  he  smells  danger  from  afar.  Upon  the  smooth  plain  a  very  ostrich  in 
speed ;  among  the  huge  tangled  wrecks  in  the  forest,  left  by  the  tornado  and  the 
storm,  he  moves  with  equal  ease,  his  spreading  horns  brushing  aside  obtrusive  limbs, 
and  his  long  legs  and  overreaching  steps  finding  no  obstruction  to  his  progress  in 
the  prostrated  trunks  of  the  giant  trees  of  the  northern  wilds.  But,  when  snow  lies 
deep  on  the  frozen  ground,  the  great  animal  finds  his  heavy  body  and  long  legs 
destructive  of  all  speed.  When  undisturbed,  he  paws  away  the  snow,  or  shovels  it 


200  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

aside  with  his  massive  horns,  and  finds  in  the  lichens  and  mosses  that  keep  green 
and  tender  beneath  the  snow,  abundant  food.  There  is  no  reason  for  his  making 
long  journeys,  and  the  difficulties  of  travel  do  not  prevent  his  getting  food.  But  the 
position  is  altered  if  he  scents  the  pursuing  hunter.  Conscious  that  he  is  taken  at  a 
disadvantage,  he  stands  trembling  and  half  paralyzed  at  the  hopeless  struggle  which 
is  before  him. 

The  hunter,  guided  by  infallible  signs  in  his  search  for  game,  gradually  approaches. 
He  walks  over  the  lightly-packed  snow  as  if  walking  on  the  solid  ground.  Where  the 
drift  lies  with  its  trembling  surface,  as  if  of  a  mass  of  eider-down,  he  finds  firm 
footing,  as  if  borne  in  the  air  by  some  invisible  power.  But  there  is  no  miracle  in 
this  swift,  easy  tramp  over  the  unpacked  snow.  On  his  feet  are  snow-shoes,  resem- 
bling in  shape  a  boy's  kite.  The  frame-work  is  made  of  light,  strong  wood,  of  an 
oval  shape,  and  about  three  feet  in  length.  Stretched  on  this  frame  is  a  delicate 
wicker-work,  made  of  strips  of  the  moose-deer's  hide.  This  ingenious  contrivance  is 
bound  to  the  foot  by  thongs  around  the  aukle  and  instep,  and,  thus  shod,  the  hunter 
traverses  the  deepest  snow-drifts  without  the  slightest  difficulty. 

The  Indian  hunter  thus  makes  swift  headway  as  he  slides  nimbly  over  the  snow, 
while  the  wretched  moose  plunges  and  writhes  in  the  treacherous  element.  In  his 
hand  the  red-man  carries  a  spear  with  a  shaft  eight  or  ten  feet  long.  The  animal 
has  pawed  up  around  him  an  extensive  clearing,  and  piled  the  snow  around  his 
feeding-ground,  perhaps  as  a  breastwork.  The  Indian  sees  his  quarry  and  yells  fiercely 
to  alarm  the  moose,  already  trembling  with  a  foretaste  of  his  coming  fate.  Instantly 
the  creature  bounds  over  the  barrier,  and  in  a  moment  is  struggling  and  stumbling 
knee-deep  in  the  snow.  For  a  short  distance  perhaps  he  makes  great  headway.  But 
every  successive  plunge  makes  him  more  and  more  weak,  and  soon  he  is  involved  in 
a  cloud  of  reeking  perspiration.  Conscious  that  the  fatal  moment  has  arrived,  the 
despairing  moose  comes  to  bay. 

The  hunter's  work  is  now  mainly  accomplished,  and  the  passage  at  thrust  and 
defense  is  of  short  duration.  For  a  few  moments  the  moose  parries  the  fatal  lance 
with  his  antlers.  His  large,  expressive  eyes,  shining  with  exhaustion  and  terror,  are 
full  of  a  veritable  human  passion,  while  the  hair  rises  on  his  neck,  and  he  seems 
changed  into  a  perfect  fury.  But  every  attempt  at  attack  or  defense  sinks  the  weary 
animal  deeper  and  deeper  in  the  snow,  and  at  last,  helpless  and  exhausted,  he  dies 
from  a  fatal  thrust.  His  most  terrible  weapon,  his  sharp  hoofs,  which  on  bare 
ground  he  could  use  with  incredible  agility  and  effect,  are  disabled,  and  he  falls  an 
easy  prey.  There  is  but  little  glory  accorded  amon.^  .  Indians  to  the  successful 
snow-shoe  hunter.  True,  there  is  some  wood-craft  needed  in  tracing  the  moose  to 
his  retreat,  but  the  lack  of  danger  to  the  pursuer  in  th.)  final  conflict  makes  the 
feat  commonplace.  It  is  simply  work  performed  to  procure  food  in  the  struggle  to 
sustain  a  hard  and  profitless  life. 

The  Indian  in  his  continual  wanderings  over  the  great  plains  and  mountains  of 
the  West  is  subject  to  many  mishaps,  accidents  by  field  :md  flood,  which  he  either 


SKETCHES  OF  INDIAN  LIFE.  201 

meets  with  stoical  calmness  or  averts  by  ingenuity  and  command  of  resources.  As 
an  example  of  this  may  be  instanced  his  method  of  dealing  with  rattlesnake  -  bites. 
The  rattlesnake  is  one  of  the  most  venomous  serpents  in  the  world,  and  exists  in 
great  numbers  scattered  over  the  plains  and  mountains  of  the  far  West,  and,  if  there 
were  no  means  of  curing  its  attacks,  would  be  a  most  dangerous  pest  to  the  red 
nomads.  But  the  Indian  long  since  discovered  a  Specific  remedy,  and  is  always  pre- 
pared to  meet  the  danger.  The  observant  traveler  knows  that,  wherever  the  rattle- 
snake abounds,  there  is  sure  to  be  growing  in  large  quantities  a  common  -  looking 
plant  denominated  black-root.  This  precious  root  is  always  kept  in  the  Indian's 
pouch,  for  by  its  wonder-working  effects  he  becomes  indifferent  to  the  fangs  of  the 
rattlesnake.  The  danger  to  the  Indian  of  the  plains  is  less  to  himself  than  to  his 
horse,  without  which  this  Centaur  is  only  half  a  man.  The  horse  has  art  instinctive 
tendency  to  examine  closely  anything  that  attracts  its  attention  along  the  road  it  is 
traveling.  An  old  horse  learns  from  experience,  and  will  carefully  avoid  what  recalls 
danger.  For  this  reason  the  veteran  shows  signs  of  nervousness  at  the  strong,  aro- 
matic scent  peculiar  to  this  snake.  But  the  young  horse  will  thrust  his  nose  toward 
what  surprises  him,  and  will  follow  the  action  with  a  strong  puff  of  wind  through 
his  nostrils.  The  rattlesnake,  always  on  the  alert,  offended  by  this  apparent  attack, 
darts  its  fangs  into  the  delicate  membranes  of  the  horse's  nose.  The  animal  starts 
back  as  if  conscious  of  some  disaster.  In  a  few  minutes  its  sight  becomes  glazed,  it 
staggers  from  side  to  side,  and,  if  not  cured,  would  soon  die.  The  Indian,  with  his 
black-root,  treats  the  matter  with  cool  indifference.  Hoppling  the  wounded  animal,  he 
throws  it  to  the  earth ;  he  then  builds  a  fire  and  makes  a  strong  decoction  of  the 
black-root,  bathes  the  wound,  and  pours  the  remainder  down  the  horse's  throat.  In  a 
short  time  the  otherwise  deadly  poison  is  neutralized,  the  animal  recovers  its  strength 
and  spirits,  and  goes  on  its  way  as  if  nothing  had  occurred. 

The  ingenuity  of  the  Indian  in  the  use  of  the  very  simple  tools  which  he  has  at 
his  disposal  is  admirable.  This  is  noticeable  in  the  neatness  and  dispatch  with  which 
he  butchers  the  buffalo  and  other  game.  While  savage  and  civilized  peoples  agree 
as  to  what  are  the  best  parts  for  food  of  the  bovine  animals,  there  must  be  a  great 
difference  in  the  manner  of  cutting  them  up,  preparatory  to  their  being  consigned  to 
the  pot  and  the  spit.  Our  butchers,  by  the  aid  of  machinery,  hoist  the  dead  body  of 
the  ox  with  heels  in  the  air,  and  proceed  to  take  off  the  hide  by  making  the  first 
incision  under  the  belly.  After  the  skin  is  removed,  the  carcass  is  split  in  twain, 
and  the  different  parts  of  the  meat  disjointed. 

Now,  the  Indian  kills  a  buffalo-bull,  whose  enormous  weight  is  equal  to  that  of  a 
stalled  ox.  He  has  no  machinery  for  hoisting  the  body  into  the  air,  no  tools  except 
his  light  hatchet  and  frail  knife.  Yet  he  does  his  work  with  scientific  ease  and  ac- 
curacy, and  from  time  immemorial  has  probably  cut  up  the  carcasses  of  the  monsters 
of  the  plains  with  a  neatness  and  skill  that  would  call  out  the  admiration  of  the 
most  expert  butcher.  From  the  peculiar  structure  of  the  buffalo,  and  the  liberal 
growth  of  hair  about  the  shoulders  and  fore-legs,  the  chances  are  about  equal  that  it 


202  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

will  die  resting  on  his  chest  instead  of  on  his  side.  When  this  is  not  the  case,  the 
Indian,  unaided,  but  with  much  exertion,  can  bring  the  body  to  an  upright  condition. 
He  then  proceeds  to  cut  it  up,  which  he  does  by  opening  the  skin  down  the  back, 
and  stripping  it  off,  extending  it  on  the  ground  in  such  a  manner  that  it  assumes 
the  appearance  of  a  satin  covering  or  blanket  on  which  the  carcass  is  exposed.  The 
knife  and  hatchet  are  used  with  such  skill  that  in  a  few  moments  the  choicest  por- 
tions are  neatly  disjointed  and  laid  aside.  This  done,  the  Indian  reverently  turns  up 
the  corners  of  the  hide  over  the  refuse  portions,  and  leaves  them  to  be  the  prey  of 
the  buzzards  and  the  wolves,  who  are  not  long  in  discovering  the  toothsome  tidbits 
thus  fortunately  left  for  them. 

In  all  the  exigencies  of  their  savage  life,  the  Indians  show  similar  skill  and  power 
of  adaptation,  and  accomplish  great  results  with  small  means.  The  red  -  man  of 
America  may  be  safely  pitted  against  any  other  barbarian  of  the  world  for  display 
of  brains,  ingenuity,  courage,  and  fortitude,  both  of  mind  and  body,  as  seen  in  his 
wild  state.  But,  under  the  effect  of  association  with  the  white  man,  it  is  to  be 
feared  that  he  has  lost  most  of  his  savage  virtues,  while  he  has  absorbed  the  worst 
vices  of  the  higher  race. 


Column  Mountains,  Nevada. 


SCENES  IN   NEVADA  AND   OREGON. 

Features  of  Nevada  scenery — The  Sierras  and  their  forests — Characteristics  of  the  mountains — Valley  of  the  Truckee 
Eiver — The  Sierras  of  Nevada — The  desolation  of  the  plains — Humboldt  Mountains — The  beauty  and  fertility 
of  Oregon — A  voyage  up  the  Columbia  River — Castle  Rock  and  Cape  Horn — The  Cascades  and  Dalles  City — 
Salmon  Falls. 

NEVADA,  in  common  with  the  entire  region  lying  between  the  Sierras  and  the 
Eocky  Mountains,  is  an  elevated  region,  having  a  general  height  of  four  thousand  feet 
above  the  sea.  On  the  western  borders  of  it  lies  the  remarkable  range  of  snow-clad 
mountains  so  well  denoted  by  the  name,  the  Sierra  Nevadas,  while  crossing  the  State 
in  nearly  parallel  lines  are  other  ranges  whose  peaks  vary  in  height  from  five  to  twelve 
thousand  feet.  The  sides  of  these  mountains  are  everywhere  cut  by  deep  ravines  or 
canons,  most  of  them  running  from  crest  to  base,  and  usually  at  right  angles  with  the 
general  direction.  The  caflons  vary  greatly  in  width,  and  some  of  them  have  rivers 
flowing  through  them,  while  others  are  entirely  destitute  of  water.  The  tops  of  the 
divides  between  the  lateral  canons  are  sharp  and  ragged,  the  bare  and  splintered  rocks 
standing  often  far  above  the  crest  of  the  ridge,  and  looking  in  the  distance  like  ranks 
of  giants  in  skirmish-line,  who  had  been  transformed  to  stone  by  some  magic  force. 


204  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

The  valleys  sometimes  extend  more  than  one  hundred  miles,  uninterrupted  except 
by  an  occasional  butte  or  spur ;  and  frequently,  when  the  mountains  disappear  or 
contract,  unite  with  other  valleys,  or  expand  into  broad  plains  or  basins,  some  of 
which  are  unobstructed,  while  others  are  dotted  with  buttes,  or  covered  with  groups 
of  rugged  hills. 

Nevada,  though  it  has  fewer  inhabitants  than  any  other  State,  is  the  third  in 
area,  Texas  and  California  alone  surpassing  it.  Its  extreme  length  is  four  hundred 
and  eighty-five  miles,  and  its  extreme  breadth  three  hundred  and  twenty  miles, 
though  in  the  south  it  contracts  to  a  point.  It  has  on  the  north  Oregon  and  Idaho, 
on  the  east  Utah  and  Arizona,  from  the  latter  of  which  it  is  partly  separated  by 
the  great  Colorado  River ;  and  on  the  west  and  southwestern  borders  lies  the  State 
of  California. 

Nevada  probably  ranks  first  among  the  silver-mining  States  of  the  country,  though 
Colorado  has  of  recent  years  seriously  contested  its  precedence.  The  great  Comstock 
lode,  which  has  produced  altogether,  it  is  said,  nearly  three  hundred  millions  of 
dollars,  was  for  a  long  time  the  richest  mine  in  the  world,  though  now  its  produc- 
tion has  greatly  fallen  off.  Virginia  City,  the  capital  of  Nevada,  which  is  reached 
from  Eeno,  on  the  Pacific  Railway,  by  the  Virginia  and  Truckee  road,  is  still  a  great 
mining  town,  though  its  swift  rush  of  prosperity  has  been  somewhat  checked  for  the 
last  five  years.  It  is  built  over  the  Comstock  lode,  which  extends  for  some  four 
miles,  and  is  on  the  side  of  Mount  Davidson,  about  half-way  between  the  base  and 
the  summit.  This  unique  town,  besides  its  very  curious  natural  features,  possesses 
that  remarkable  engineering  work  the  Sutro  Tunnel,  which  pierces  the  base  of  the 
Comstock  lode,  drains  the  mountain  of  its  water,  and  furnishes  a  ready  means  of 
transporting  the  ore  from  the  mines. 

The  ore  is  worked  in  two  ways,  by  wet  and  by  dry  crushing,  the  former  being 
by  far  the  more  profitable,  but  unfortunately  in  many  cases  less  practicable,  than  the 
latter.  Still,  silver-mining,  even  yet,  is  experimental,  and  the  application  of  science 
to  the  solution  of  its  problems  has  not  yet  achieved  the  great  results  we  have  reason 
to  expect  in  the  future,  from  the  improvement  already  manifested.  It  appears  that 
at  only  a  few  of  the  districts  do  they  find  ore  that  can  be  reduced  by  what  is  known 
as  the  wet  process,  which  can  be  carried  on  at  half  the  expense  of  the  dry  crushing, 
with  roasting  process.  Moreover,  the  expense  for  roasting  by  the  old  reverberatory 
furnace  often  runs  as  high  as  twenty-two  dollars  a  ton,  while  the  improved  method 
of  roasting,  to  say  nothing  of  the  diminished  first  cost  of  the  furnaces,  has  lessened 
this  expense  to  something  like  six  or  seven  dollars  a  ton,  which  realizes  from  each 
ton  of  ore  this  difference  in  cost,  and  also  enables  mining  companies  to  work  cheaper 
ores,  that  otherwise  must  be  thrown  into  the  waste-dumps.  When  the  mining-camps 
were  continually  changing,  in  virtue  of  every  story  of  a  new  and  rich  discovery,  the 
popular  mind  was  in  a  continual  fever,  and  the  gambling  spirit  unsettled  all  the  ties 
of  social  order.  But  we  can  not  now  linger  longer  on  this  feature  of  Nevada  life,  but 
must  return  to  a  survey  of  the  natural  scenery  of  the  State. 


SCENES  IN  NEVADA   AND   OREGON.  205 

In  many  parts  of  the  Sierras  are  found  noble  growths  of  pine  forest,  though  in  the 
ranges  which  cross  the  State  the  mountain-sides  are,  for  the  most  part,  only  covered 
with  a  scanty  growth  of  bunch-grass,  and  with  patches  of  scrubby  trees.  Mr.  W.  H. 
Eideing,  who  has  written  much  of  the  West,  gives  us  some  vivid  glimpses  of  the  forests 
of  the  Sierras.  He  says  : 

"  Down  the  eastern  slope  of  the  mountains,  leading  to  the  Carson  River,  flumes 
twenty  and  thirty  miles  long  are  carried  over  valleys  and  ravines  on  high  trestle-work 
bridges,  and  the  wood  is  floated  through  them  over  another  stage  of  its  journey 
toward  the  mines. 

"  One  morning  as  I  was  riding  through  the  Truckee  Canon,  a  great  wave  and  a 
cloud  of  spray  leaped  from  the  river  into  the  air  some  distance  in  front  of  me.  I 
went  a  few  paces  farther,  when,  by  the  merest  chance,  my  eye  caught  what  was  in- 
tended to  be  a  sign — the  lid  of  a  baking-powder  box  tacked  to  a  pine-stump,  and 
inscribed  with  dubious  letters,  '  Look  out  for  the  logs  ! '  In  which  direction  the  logs 
were  to  be  looked  out  for  was  not  intimated,  and  I  paused  a  moment  in  uncertainty 
as  to  whether  security  depended  on  my  standing  still  or  advancing.  Suddenly  my  mule 
shied  round,  and  a  tremendous  pine-log,  eighty  or  one  hundred  feet  long  and  about 
five  feet  in  diameter,  shot  down  the  almost  perpendicular  wall  of  the  cafion  into  the 
river,  raising  another  wave  and  an  avalanche  of  spray. 

"  This  was  to  me  a  new  phase  of  the  lumber  industry.  A  wide,  strong,  V-shaped 
trough,  bound  with  ribbons  of  iron  which  had  been  worn  to  a  silvery  brightness  by  the 
friction,  was  laid  down  the  precipice  ;  and  out  of  sight  on  the  plateau  above  some 
men  were  felling  the  trees,  which  they  conveyed  to  the  river  in  the  expeditious  man- 
ner aforesaid. 

"  On  another  morning  a  runaway  mule  caused  us  a  wild  chase  over  a  range  of 
hills  wholly  cleared  of  trees  and  dotted  with  forlorn  cabins,  which  had  been  succes- 
sively abandoned  as  the  lumbermen  had  moved  from  camp  to  camp.  While  the  Corn- 
stock  lode  continues  to  yield  its  enormous  treasure,  the  denudation  will  continue, 
and  whoever  knows  how  beautiful  the  shores  of  Lake  Tahoe  are  must  regret  that  they 
have  not  been  reserved,  like  the  Yellowstone  and  Yosemite  Valleys,  as  a  national  park. 

"  Seen  from  the  deck  of  the  steamboat  and  from  the  summits  of  the  surrounding 
mountains,  the  banks  of  the  lake  are  a  prevailing  brown.  At  these  distances,  the 
luxuriance  of  the  vegetation  can  not  be  seen  ;  but  the  vegetation  is  luxuriant,  and, 
except  on  a  few  sterile  spots,  the  willow,  oak,  cotton-wood,  pine,  fir,  and  spruce,  multi- 
ply every  shade  of  greenness.  Then  there  are  two  shrubs  which  occur  in  company, 
and  which  remind  us  of  an  erubescent  country-girl  and  a  pallid  old  man — the  man- 
zanita,  with  its  bunches  of  ruby  berries,  thick,  olive,  smooth-surfaced  leaves,  and  pol- 
ished, red-brown  stalk  ;  and  the  white-thorn  that  clings  to  the  earth  in  ghostly 
leaves  and  branches,  and  that  presents  an  obstacle  in  its  toughness  quite  out  of  pro- 
portion to  its  size.  The  oaks  are  small  and  pliant,  and  are  not  numerous.  Some- 
times, when  the  wall  of  the  lake  is  a  perpendicular  cliff,  as  at  Emerald  Bay,  and  a 
level  margin  of  swamp  extends  from  the  rock  to  the  water,  a  soft  undergrowth  is 


206 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


found,  and  grasses,  yines,  and  shrubs,  spring  out  of  the  oozy  soil  with  a  profuseness 
not  usual  in  so  cold  a  zone  as  that  of  the  Sierras." 

For  four  hundred  miles  the  Sierras  stretch  broad  and  high.      The  hill-forms  that 
mark  the  base  of  the  eastern  slope  are  round  or  sweep  in  long  ridges,  broken  by  the 


Summits  of  the  Sierras, 


SCENES  IN  NEVADA  AND   OREGON.  207 

river-caflons.  Above  this  belt  undulates  another  stretch  of  hills  and  forests,  dotted 
with  a  chain  of  mining  towns,  ranches,  and  vineyards.  Then  come  the  swelling  mid- 
dle heights  of  the  Sierras,  a  broad,  billowy  plateau,  cut  by  sharp,  sudden  canons  and 
sweeping  up  in  grand  forests  of  spruce,  fir,  and  pine  to  the  feet  of  the  summit-peak, 
where  an  eternal  barrier  of  snow  sternly  forbids  further  advance  of  vegetation.  The 
forest  gets  thin  and  broken,  showing  only  a  few  Alpine  firs,  black  shafts  cowering  in 
sheltered  slopes  or  clinging  to  the  storm-swept  faces  of  the  rocks.  Higher  up  a  few 
gnarled  forms  are  passed,  and  beyond  this  the  silent  white  peaks  lifting  in  sublime 
loneliness.  Volcanic  domes  and  cones,  and  granite  crags  of  every  regular  and  irregu- 
lar shape,  crown  these  summits,  some  of  them  so  beautiful  as  to  make  one  think  they 
must  have  been  carved  by  the  chisel  of  the  sculptor.  The  upper  Alpine  gorges  are 
wide  and  open,  leading  into  amphitheatres  whose  walls  are  either  rock  or  drifts  of 
never-melting  snow  packed  and  beaten  into  icy  hardness.  The  sculpture  of  the  sum- 
mit is  evidently  the  work  of  that  wonderful  carver,  the  ice-glacier,  and,  though  in  the 
past  the  work  of  this  great  force  was  much  more  powerful  in  extent  and  character, 
yet  the  frequent  avalanches  of  to-day  and  the  freshly-scored  mountain-flanks  are  con- 
stant suggestions  of  the  past.  The  Swiss  Alps  have  long  been  regarded  as  the  most 
attractive  and  beautiful  mountains  of  the  world,  but  those  familiar  with  the  deep 
recesses  of  the  Sierras  find  here  all  the  beauties  and  marvels  of  Alpine  scenery  exist- 
ing in  even  greater  degree. 

The  noble  forest-covering  of  the  flanks  of  the  Sierras  is  unequaled,  perhaps,  cer- 
tainly not  surpassed,  in  any  mountains  of  the  world.  The  tall,  straight  shafts  of  pine 
and  spruce  rise  to  the  height  of  those  splendid  trees  which  make  the  forests  of 
Oregon  and  Washington  Territory  so  remarkable,  and  the  dense  mantle  of  deep  green 
lends  great  beauty  to  the  slopes  which  shoot  up  above  in  snowy  pinnacles.  The 
traveler  by  rail  sees  but  little  of  the  noblest  scenery  of  the  Sierras,  as  the  vision  is 
closed  in  by  the  snow-sheds,  which  extend  for  so  many  miles.  To  enjoy  it  we  must 
be  prepared  to  undergo  hardship  and  fatigue,  camping  out  amid  the  deep  forests,  or 
on  the  mountain-sides,  and  prepared  for  all  the  rough  accidents  of  frontier  life. 

We  find  among  the  canons,  and  at  the  base  of  the  Sierras,  or  flowing  down  the 
flanks  of  the  pine-covered  slopes,  charming  little  streams,  even  a  few  rivers  of  con- 
siderable size,  their  clear  waters  brawling  over  a  pebbly  or,  it  may  be,  a  bowlder- 
strewed  bottom,  and  alive  with  fine  trout,  of  a  size  and  gameness  which  would  make 
the  heart  of  the  Eastern  angler  dance  with  joy.  Among  these  beautiful  streams  is 
the  Truckee  Eiver,  which  flows  through  the  well  -  named  Pleasant  Valley.  Such 
bright  mountain-rivers  lend  additional  beauty  to  the  scenery  of  the  middle  and 
lower  slopes  of  the  Sierras,  which  combine  so  many  varied  beauties  as  almost  to 
justify  the  boast  of  many  of  the  enthusiastic  men  of  the  Pacific  slope,  who  are  ac- 
customed to  say,  with  some  degree  of  irreverence,  that,  after  the  Almighty  had  made 
all  the  other  mountains  in  the  world,  he  made  the  Sierra  Nevadas,  as  the  final  result 
of  all  his  experiments  in  creating  what  is  grand  and  beautiful. 

Leaving  the  Sierras,  let  us  take  a  hasty  survey  of  some  of  the  other  features  of 


208 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


Nevada.  Most  of  the  surface-water  of  the  State  is  collected  in  lakes,  none  of  them 
of  great  size,  most  of  them  quite  shallow,  and  all  of  them  picturesque  in  their  sur- 
roundings. The  largest  that  lie  wholly  within  the  State  are  Pyramid  Lake,  formed 
by  the  waters  of  the  Truckee  Eiver ;  and  Humboldt,  Walker,  Carson,  and  Franklin 
Lakes,  formed  respectively  by  the  waters  of  the  rivers  bearing  their  names. 


Pyramid  Lake,  Nevada. 

Pyramid  Lake,  which  is  the  largest,  gets  its  name  from  a  pyramidal  rock  near  its 
center,  rising  six  hundred  feet  above  the  surface  of  the  water.  It  is  of  considerable 
depth,  and  is  entirely  surrounded  by  precipitous  mountains,  two  or  three  thousand 
feet  high.  It  abounds  in  large  trout.  The  scenery  all  around  is  very  grand, 
befitting  a  State  which  may  be  considered  so  remarkable  for  its  landscape  effects, 
specially  in  the  grandeur  of  its  mountain-views.  What  is  called  the  Great  Basin 
of  Nevada  is  not  a  shallow  depression,  or  even  a  broad  valley,  but  a  succession  of 
valleys,  separated  by  parallel  ranges  running  north  and  south.  It  is  only  a  basin, 
in  the  sense  of  being  lower  than  the  Rocky  Mountains  and  the  Sierras,  whose  huge 
masses  form  its  borders.  Of  the  mountain-ranges  which  traverse  the  general  valley, 
the  Humboldt  chain  may  be  taken  as  a  good  example. 

After  leaving  the  Truckee  River,  which  flows  near  the  borders  of  California  and 


SCENES  IN  NEVADA   AND   OREGON. 


209 


Nevada,  the  traveler,  journeying  in  a  northeasterly  direction,  crosses  an  arid  desert, 
which  is  desolate  in  the  extreme.  He  may  stop  to  examine  the  hot  springs,  scattered 
throughout  the  waste,  but  he  will  probably  hurry  till  he  reaches  a  point  where 
the  distant  view  of  the  Humboldt  Mountains  cheers  his  heart  with  the  thought  that 
his  goal  is  nearly  reached.  The  mountains  look  charming  in  their  veil  of  azure  mist, 
but  we  must  not  be  content  with  this.  Well  does  it  repay  the  effort  to  climb  their 
rocky  summits,  lunch  beside  their  sparkling  rivulets,  to  spend  a  night  around  some 
blazing  camp-fire  in  a  mountain  ravine,  to  rouse  the  echoes  of  the  glens,  or  the  fiend- 
ish yells  of  coyotes  by  the  ringing  peal  of  the  rifle,  or  the  trolling  of  a  joyous  song. 


Star  Peat,  Nevada. 


Let  our  reader  fancy  himself  on  the  divide  from  which  the  view  of  Star  Peak, 
which  is  given  in  our  illustration,  was  taken.  He  will  then  be  seven  thousand  feet 
high.  To  the  left  of  the  picture  is  seen  a  great  bluff  of  limestone,  a  portion  of  a 
grand  natural  wall,  at  some  points  six  hundred  feet  in  height.  This  is  of  great 

14 


210 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


length,  and  often  steep  and  inaccessible.  The  small  trees  are  junipers  and  mountain 
mahogany,  and  the  bushes  on  the  hill-sides  are  the  ever-present  sage-brush.  Al- 
though Star  Peak,  a  mountain  9,960  feet  above  the  sea,  which  looms  so  grandly  in 
the  distance,  appears  quite  near,  it  is  in  fact  about  ten  miles  from  us.  But,  owing 
to  the  exquisite  clearness  of  the  atmosphere,  even  the  little  canons  and  ravines  which 
furrow  its  sides  may  be  distinctly  discerned.  On  the  northern  side  of  this  mountain 
exist  caves  of  great  interest  and  extent. 

As  we  look  back,  the  view  of  the  desert  and  the  adjoining  mountain-ranges  is 
peculiarly  beautiful.  One  barely  perceives  the  roads  crossing  the  plains  and  winding 
among  the  distant  hills,  but  columns  of  dust  rise  in  the  air  a  thousand  feet  high 


Lake  in  the  Humboldt  Sange,  Nevada. 

from  passing  teams,  which  look  like  mere  motes.  The  ashy  hue  of  the  landscape  is 
relieved  by  the  dazzling  whiteness  of  the  alkali  plain  gleaming  in  the  sunlight  like  a 
bed  of  snow. 

Mr.  Bowles,  in  his  animated  narrative  of  his  ride  "Across  the  Continent,"  speaks 
eloquently  of  the  scenery  of  Nevada.  "Mountains  are  always  beautiful,  and  here 
they  are  ever  in  sight,  wearing  every  variety  of  shape,  and  even  in  their  hard  and 
bare  surfaces  presenting  many  a  fascination  of  form — running  up  into  sharp  peaks ; 
rising  up  and  rounding  out  into  innumerable  fat  mammillae,  exquisitely  shaped  ; 
sloping  down  into  faint  foot-hills,  and  mingling  with  the  plain  to  which  they  are  all 
destined ;  and  now  and  then  offering  the  silvery  streak  of  snow  which  is  the  sign  of 
water  for  man  and  the  promise  of  grass  for  ox.  Add  to  the  mountains  the  clear, 


SCENES  IN  NEVADA   AND   OREGON. 


211 


Sculptured  Canon,  Humboldt  Range,  Nevada. 

pure,  rare  atmosphere,  bringing  remote  objects  near,  giving  new  size  and  distinct- 
ness to  moon  and  stars,  offering  sunsets  and  sunrises  of  indescribable  richness  and 
reach  of  color,  and  accompanied  with  cloudless  skies,  and  a  south  wind  refreshing  at 
all  times,  and  cool  and  exhilarating  even  in  the  afternoon  and  evening,  and  you 
have  large  compensations  for  the  lack  of  vegetation  and  color  in  the  landscape." 


212  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

The  Humboldt  Range  presents  many  of  the  most  interesting  features  of  Nevada 
scenery.  There  are  scattered  through  it  pretty  little  lakes,  encircled  by  high  peaks, 
which,  reflected  in  the  clear  waters  with  great  distinctness,  make  a  second  picture  for 
the  eye  not  less  striking  than  the  original.  Magnificent  cafions  and  gorges,  too, 
cleave  its  solid  walls.  Some  of  these  show  on  their  sides  such  sharp  and  striking 
carvings,  the  work  of  heat  and  rain  and  frost  on  the  hard  rock,  as  to  make  one 
almost  fancy  it  human  hand-work.  Among  these  one  is  specially  known  as  Sculptured 
Cafion,  and  is  an  object  of  considerable  interest  to  tourists  and  explorers. 

Of  another  cafion,  Wright's,  we  have  a  very  interesting  description  by  Mr.  W.  W. 
Bailey,  who  belonged  to  a  scientific  exploring  party  which  made  a  thorough  exami- 
nation of  Nevada.  He  says  : 

"  In  the  autumn  of  1867.  after  a  very  arduous  geological  campaign  on  the 
Truckee  and  Humboldt  Rivers,  the  party  of  which  I  was  a  member  encamped  in  the 
mountains,  in  order  to  escape  the  dangerous  miasms  of  the  valleys,  from  which  we 
had  all  more  or  less  suffered.  The  larger  part  of  our  force,  with  its  military  escort, 
was  at  the  opening  of  Wright's  Caflon,  six  miles  from  the  Orecma,  on  the  Humboldt. 
We  noticed  here  a  fact  which  greatly  alarmed  us  at  first.  The  stream  which  supplied 
us  with  water  became  perfectly  dry  at  noon,  and  we  began  to  fear  that  our  supply 
was  exhausted.  At  night,  however,  to  our  great  surprise,  it  began  to  flow  again, 
suddenly,  and  with  much  noise.  The  same  thing  was  repeated  every  day.  This  is 
the  result,  probably,  of  the  great  daily  evaporation,  which  exhausts  the  water  before  it 
can  reach  the  plain.  The  equally  powerful  radiation  which  takes  place  during  the 
night,  and  possibly  a  direct  condensation  from  the  air,  are  sufficient  causes  for  the 
restoration  of  the  stream  to  its  normal  condition,  if  fluidity  can  be  considered  the 
natural  state  of  anything  in  the  arid  regions  of  the  Great  Basin. 

"The  more  invalid  portion  of  our  party  were  wisely  ordered  to  encamp  a  mile  or 
so  farther  up  the  canon,  and  a  rough  mountain  road  or  trail  led  to  their  airy  retreat. 
The  horses,  too,  which  had  fared  but  poorly  on  the  sage-brush  and  grease-wood  of 
the  barren  deserts,  were  removed  to  the  same  place,  and  by  means  of  the  scanty  but 
rich  supply  of  bunch-grass  were  able  to  prolong  their  wretched  existence.  It  is  mar- 
velous how  these  animals  can  sustain  life  in  a  country  where  there  is  apparently  so 
little  forage ;  but  they  do  live  and  thrive.  One  day  my  friend  the  photographer  and 
myself  determined  to  visit  the  invalids,  and  to  explore  the  wonders  of  the  hills.  We 
found  our  unfortunate  comrades  encamped  in  a  most  romantic  spot,  around  which 
rose  the  towering  summits  of  the  mountains.  A  series  of  bold  and  castellated  ridges 
of  granite  attracted  our  attention,  and  we  resolved  to  scale  them.  The  worst  part  of 
our  climb,  the  whole  of  which  was  arduous,  was  up  a  steep  sage-brush  hill,  which 
led  to  the  base  of  the  attractive  rocks.  We  found  the  granite  wall  very  fantastic  in 
outlin~  steep,  and  hollowed  into  a  variety  of  curious  caves.  The  weather,  and  per- 
haps the  wind-borne  sand,  which  is  a  powerful  agent  in  this  country,  had  acted  upon 
it  in  a  most  peculiar  manner.  The  surface  of  the  cliffs  in  some  places  looked  as  if 
the  granite  had  once  been  liquid,  and  a  breeze  gently  blowing  over  it  had  rippled 


SCENES  IN  NEVADA   AND   OREGON. 


213 


the  plastic  material,  which  had  then  been  suddenly  petrified.  The  actual  cause  of 
the  appearance  is,  however,  quite  different.  It  is  doubtless  owing  to  certain  portions 
of  the  rock  having  a  more  durable  composition  than  the  rest,  which  is  consequently 
eroded,  leaving  the  harder  parts  standing  in  relief.  Quite  large  junipers  grew  among 
these  rocks,  and  offered  a  refreshing  shade.  The  wind  blew  furiously  on  the  top, 
and,  owing  to  one  especially  dangerous-looking  place,  I  informed  my  bolder  companion 
that  I  would  proceed  no  farther.  He  succeeded  in  reaching  the  pinnacle.  While 
awaiting  his  return,  I  employed  myself  in  gathering  flowers,  and  was  able  to  secure 


Granite  Bluffs  in  Wright t  Canon,  Hmnboldt  Ranye,  Nevada. 

some  rare  and  curious  Alpine  plants.  The  photographer  reported  the  view  from  the 
summit  very  extensive,  and  it  certainly  was  grand  where  I  beheld  it.  I  was  seated 
upon  the  edge  of  a  frightful  abyss,  and  looked  apparently  a  thousand  feet  down  into 
a  small  valley,  whence  the  mass  of  the  mountains  rolled  toward  the  plain  in  great 
brown  waves,  unrelieved  by  a  tree  or  any  green  thing,  unless  may  be  a  straggling 
juniper.  The  hills  were  covered  with  the  sage,  or  artemisia,  but  even  that  is  of  an 
ashy  hue,  in  common  with  most  of  the  desert  plants.  The  great  valley  of  the 
Humboldt,  stretching  to  the  river  and  beyond,  was  equally  barren,  and  then  arose 
the  Trinity  Mountains  and  other  ranges,  until  a  white  cap  here  and  there  in  the 


214  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

distance  indicated  the  dim  line  of  the  Sierra  Nevada.  There  was  positively  no  color 
in  the  scene,  and  yet  it  did  not  lack  for  beauty.  The  soft  shades  of  neutral  tint  and 
azure,  and  at  evening  the  peculiar  golden  dust  thrown  over  the  mountains  hy  the 
setting  sun,  are  effects  that  are  unique  and  unsurpassed." 

From  the  alkali  wastes  of  Nevada,  broken  with  mountain-ranges,  to  green,  fertile 
Oregon,  with  its  splendid  forests,  lakes,  rivers,  and  valleys,  a  veritable  paradise  of  nat- 
ure, is  indeed  a  change.  What  has  before  been  said  of  Washington  Territory  may  be 
said  also  in  great  measure  of  Oregon,  for  they  are  the  result  of  the  same  general 
conditions,  and  equally  merit  the  enthusiasm  of  those  who  pronounce  this  far  North- 
western corner  of  our  country  as  presenting  an  almost  perfect  union  of  all  the  gifts 
which  Nature  can  bestow.  In  presenting  some  characteristic  views  of  Oregon,  we 
can  not  select  a  more  typical  region  than  that  traversed  by  one  of  the  noblest  of 
American  rivers,  the  Columbia,  which  most  people  living  east  of  the  Mississippi 
recollect  with  pleasure,  if  for  no  other  reason,  from  the  fact  that  it  furnishes  our 
markets  with  their  chief  supply  of  that  finest  of  all  fish,  the  salmon.  The  reference 
to  the  Columbia  made  in  the  preceding  article  was,  it  will  be  remembered,  of  the 
most  casual  kind,  and  did  not  attempt  to  sketch  river  scenery,  of  its  kind,  unsur- 
passed anywhere. 

A  few  miles  up  the  river  from  its  mouth,  where  a  dangerous  bar  churns  the  waves 
of  the  Pacific  into  terrible  breakers  which  make  the  passage  difficult  except  at  certain 
times  of  wind  and  tide,  lies  the  little  town  of  Astoria,  founded  by  John  Jacob  Astor 
as  the  headquarters  of  the  fur  company  by  which  he  tried  to  dispute  the  supremacy 
of  the  Hudson  Bay  Company.  Here  the  stream  is  twelve  miles  wide,  a  noble  expanse 
more  like  a  bay  or  a  lake  than  a  mere  river.  A  writer  thus  describes  this  part  of  the 
Columbia,  as  seen  at  early  dawn  :  "  The  great  river,  still  lake-like  in  breadth  and 
quietness,  lay  rosy  in  the  dawn.  The  wonderful  forests,  whose  magnificence  our  tame 
and  civil  imagination  could  not  have  conceived,  came  down  from  farthest  distance  to 
the  very  margin  of  the  stream.  Pines  and  firs  two  hundred  feet  in  height  were  the 
somber  background  against  which  a  tropical  splendor  of  color  flickered  or  flamed  out, 
for  even  in  this  early  September  beeches  and  oaks  and  ash-trees  were  clothed  with 
autumn  pomp ;  and  on  the  north,  far  above  the  silence  of  the  river  and  the  splendid 
shores,  four  snow-crowned,  rose-flushed,  stately  mountains  lifted  themselves  to  heaven. 
For  miles  and  miles  and  miles  Mount  Adams,  Mount  Jefferson,  Mount  Rainier,  and 
Mount  St.  Helen's  make  glad  the  way.  Adams  and  Jefferson  have  an  unvarying 
grandeur  of  form,  a  massive  strength  and  nobility  as  it  becomes  them  to  inherit  with 
their  names.  Mount  St.  Helen's  rises  in  lines  so  vague  and  soft  as  to  seem  like  a 
cloud-mountain.  Eainier,  whose  vastness  you  can  only  comprehend  when  you  see  it 
from  Puget  Sound,  looks,  even  from  the  river,  immeasurable,  lying  snow-covered 
from  base  to  peak." 

Portland,  which  is  the  goal  of  the  San  Francisco  steamers,  lies  one  hundred  and 
ten  miles  up  the  river,  though  not  on  the  river,  being  twelve  miles  up  on  the  Willa- 
mette, one  of  the  tributaries  of  the  Columbia,  a  busy,  thriving  place.  But  it  is  not 


SCENES  IN  NEVADA  AND   OREGON. 


215 


the  works  of  man,  but  of  Nature,  that  we  are  now  anxious  to  see.  As  we  sail  up 
the  broad  stream  we  gaze  with  wonder  on  the  mountain-shores,  a  mile  and  a  half 
apart,  and  shooting  sharp  and  bold  into  the  air  thousands  of  feet.  A  solid  wall  along 
the  river  for  miles  and  miles,  one  can  hardly  see  a  rift  or  gorge  in  their  huge  sides 
for  a  long  distance.  Then  a  canon  suddenly  opens,  and  you  see,  stretching  far  be- 


Caetle  Rock. 


216 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


yond,  other  mountains,  coming  down  to  link  themselves  in  an  unending  chain,  and 
glimpses  of  far-off  reaches  of  meadow  or  gray  fields  of  rock.  Sometimes  you  are 
dazzled  by  a  glorious  water-fall  dancing  out  of  the  very  sky — first  a  fluttering  cobweb, 


The  Cascades. 

then  a  gleaming  ribbon,  then  a  filmy  veil  of  spray,  then  a  swift  cascade  leaping  from 
rock  to  rock,  then  a  resistless  rush  of  water. 

But  the  most  beautiful  thing  of  all  is  found  in  the  great  forest  with  its  peerless 
pine,  spruce,  and  fir  trees,  many  of  them  rising  straight  in  the  air  three  hundred 
feet,  with  not  a  crook  or  bend  in  those  symmetrical  stems.  This  is  the  crowning 
glory  of  Oregon  scenery,  and  it  may  be  safely  stated  that  nowhere  out  of  this  region 
can  be  seen  such  specimens  of  the  trees  on  which  hang  our  great  lumbering  interests. 
But  to  enlarge  on  this  would  be  only  to  repeat  what  has  been  said  concerning  Wash- 
ington Territory. 


SCENES  IN  NEVADA   AND   OREGON.  217 

Sometimes  we  find  our  river  flowing  straight  and  untroubled,  sometimes  it  parts 
on  rocky  mounds  or  islands,  and  runs  shallow  and  dangerous.  Sometimes  it  expands 
into  a  chain  of  narrow  lakes  without  any  outlet,  until,  suddenly  turning  on  our  track, 
we  find  a  way  out  of  the  watery  labyrinth.  The  river,  along  this  part  of  its  course, 
shows  the  most  astonishing  caprices.  Walls  of  basalt  in  vast  ledges  rise  sheer  from 
the  shore,  overtopping  the  farther  mountains.  Huge  bowlders  like  Castle  Rock  lift 
themselves  to  a  vast  height  from  their  broad,  water-washed  bases,  while  majestic  ram- 
parts like  Cape  Horn  stand  in  columnar  walls  sometimes  seven  hundred  feet  high. 
No  architecture  from  the  hands  of  man  could  be  so  impressive  as  these  columns, 
shafts,  and  obelisks,  so  profusely  scattered  in  the  river  and  along  the  banks.  And 
through  such  grand  gate-ways  we  finally  come  to  the  Cascades. 

These  are  fierce  and  whirling  rapids  where  the  river  falls  forty  feet,  dashing  down 
twenty  feet  at  one  bound.  For  five  miles  the  water  is  a  seething  caldron  of  foam  and 
curl,  and  no  boat,  however  stanch,  could  live  in  such  a  course.  So  the  difficulty  is 
overcome  in  a  short  railway  which  makes  the  portage,  but  a  railway  which  runs  so 
near  the  river  as  to  make  the  whirling  water  plainly  visible  as  it  dashes  madly  down 
in  every  variety  of  cascade  and  rapid.  When  we  take  steamer  again,  the  brawling  and 
rage  of  the  stream  have  been  succeeded  by  a  surface  as  smooth  as  a  mill-pond. 

By-and-by  we  get  into  the  heart  of  the  mountains,  which  tower  higher  and  closer 
to  the  river-brink  as  we  proceed.  The  river  narrows  and  again  gets  fierce  and  tur- 
bulent, for  the  wind  whistles  through  the  gorges,  and  during  the  spring  freshets  the 
surf  roars  in  waves  like  those  of  breakers  on  a  rock-bound  sea-coast.  The  cliffs  on 
the  brink  lift  in  walls  of  basalt  from  four  hundred  to  twelve  hundred  feet  high,  with 
occasionally  a  bold  rampart  of  twice  the  height.  As  we  look  back  through  some 
vista  broader  than  common  to  the  south,  we  see  the  shining,  snow-covered  Mount 
Hood  literally  filling  the  horizon.  With  this  foreground  of  river  and  forest,  and  all 
this  blaze  of  color  set  against  the  cold  glitter  of  the  ice-peak  and  the  warm  blue  of 
the  sky  above,  Mount  Hood  is  more  splendid  than  pen  and  brush  can  delineate. 

We  now  come  to  Dalles  City,  the  second  town  in  Oregon,  and  the  base  of  supply 
for  the  Idaho  miners,  and  to  which  they  send  their  gold  for  shipment.  Now  the 
great  cliffs  disappear,  and  we  enter  the  sand-region.  Nature's  scene-shifting  on  the 
Pacific  coast  is  one  of  her  most  curious  phases.  From  forests  as  grand  as  those  of 
the  tropics  to  desolate  mountain-peaks,  from  placid  lake  to  roaring  cataract,  from  the 
richest  greenness  to  Sahara  sands — it  is  but  the  work  of  a  few  minutes.  One's  thought 
is  stirred  and  delighted  by  such  wonderful  changes. 

The  wind  now  blows  the  sand  in  a  fine  rain  that  fills  the  eyes,  the  ears,  and  the 
clothes,  if  there  is  a  stiff  breeze  blowing ;  or,  if  not,  the  vision  takes  in  a  wide  plain 
of  glaring  white  sand,  melancholy  though  still  beautiful,  as  it  is  set  against  a  back- 
ground of  green-belted,  white-topped  mountains.  The  fifteen  miles  of  portage  neces- 
sary show  superb  river  scenery  wherever  the  sand  will  let  you  see  it.  Here  the 
Columbia  is  a  succession  of  rapids,  falls,  and  whirlpools,  where  the  dalles,  rough  flag- 
stones which  give  their  name  to  the  place,  make  crooked  and  narrow  channels  for  the 


218 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


stream.  We  now  see  every  form  or  tint,  every  caprice  of  motion,  which  water  can 
take  on.  Below  the  great  fall  the  whole  volume  of  the  stream — whose  branches 
stretch  north  through  British  Columbia,  east  through  Idaho  and  Montana,  south  and 


Mount  H(H 


west  into  Nevada,  and  reaching  down  gather  in  the  icy  rivulets  of  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains— pours  through  a  gate-way  not  fifty  yards  in  width,  whose  sides  are  steep  preci- 
pices, hewed  as  by  a  stone-mason's  chisel.  The  smooth  and  glassy  water  slides  by  in 
brown  shadow,  to  be  torn  into  ragged  ribbons  by  the  rocks  below,  even  as  it  has  been 


SCENES  IN  NEVADA   AND   OREGON. 


219 


dashed  and  beaten   above  at  the  great  falls.      Here  the  river  is  a  mile  wide,   and 
plunges  over  a  wall  twenty  feet  high,  stretching  from  shore  to  shore. 

These  falls  are  known  as  the  Salmon  Falls,  on  account  of  their  display  of  one  of 
the  most  wonderful  facts  of  fish-life.  The  salmon  come  up  here  in  incredible  num- 
bers, and  shoot  the  falls  on  their  way  to  the  quiet  river  above,  when  about  to  spawn. 
They  leap  up  like  flashes  of  light  over  the  tumbling  waters,  and  it  is  most  fascinating 
to  watch  them  as  we  stand  on  the  slippery  stones,  and  see  these  scaly  gymnasts  charge 
at  the  barrier.  Up  they  come  through  the  gleaming  rapids,  a  solid  army  of  fish, 


Salmon  Falls. 

making  the  whole  river  gleam  with  color.  They  no  more  mind  precipice  and  torrent 
than  they  would  a  summer  pool.  Swiftly  they  swim  to  the  white  whirlpool  below. 
Suddenly  something  bright  and  glittering  is  seen  in  the  air,  and  something  glides  up 
the  stream  above  the  fall.  The  daring  fish  has  made  its  leap  over  rock  and  water-fall, 
and  has  found  shelter  above.  Or,  perhaps,  the  flash  in  the  air  is  in  vain,  and  the 
bruised  creature,  wounded  on  the  sharp  rocks  below,  floats  bleeding  down  the  stream 
to  die.  So  they  come  on  in  countless  thousands,  ever  strong  and  fearless,  and  leap, 
to  win  or  lose,  all  the  day  and  for  half  the  days  of  the  year. 

The  leaps  of  the  salmon  as  they  make  their  desperate  efforts  to  obey  the  instincts 


220  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

of  nature,  are  not  the  only  evidences  of  life  that  we  see  about  the  falls.  Dirty, 
scantily  clad  Indians  swarm  close  at  hand  with  spears,  and  kill  the  leaping  fish  by 
thousands.  Not  content  with  sufficient  to  satisfy  their  appetite  or  even  to  provide 
against  the  future,  the  red-skins  slay  for  the  purpose  of  wanton  bloodshed,  and 
throw  the  beautiful  and  delicious  fish,  fit  for  the  table  of  a  king,  on  the  bank  to 
rot,  and  fill  the  air  with  an  insufferable  stench.  The  Oregon  Indians,  and  particularly 
those  who  live  on  the  banks  of  the  Columbia  Eiver,  are  perhaps  among  the  most 
loathsome  and  repulsive  specimens  of  their  race.  Most  scantily  clad,  reeking  with 
vermin,  thoroughly  idle  and  worthless,  imbued  with  the  worst  vices  of  the  white  man, 
with  no  trace  of  his  virtues,  the  red-man  of  this  section  is  a  nuisance  and  an  eye-sore, 
far  inferior  to  the  Indian  who  lives  farther  north  or  to  the  savage  of  the  plains  in  the 
south.  It  is  with  pleasure  that  the  whites  anticipate  the  extinction  of  these  miserable 
creatures,  who,  however  they  may  have  been  wronged  in  the  past,  show  such  an  utter 
degradation  to-day  as  to  be  but  little  above  the  animals  which  they  pursue  in  the 
chase. 

Above  the  Dalles  the  forests  disappear,  and  for  miles  on  miles  little  else  in  the 
way  of  vegetation  can  be  seen  than  the  thick  brown  grass  which  clothes  the  banks 
with  its  sere  and  dismal  line.  The  scenery  has  become  tame,  and  the  tourist  no 
longer  has  any  inducement  to  proceed  higher  than  Wright's  Harbor,  which  is  two 
hundred  and  fifty  miles  from  the  sea.  Steamers,  however,  ply  for  four  hundred 
miles,  and  then  a  queer  little  boat  runs  up  the  Snake  River  in  Idaho.  When  the 
Northern  Pacific  Railway  is  finished,  connecting  the  head-waters  of  the  Missouri  with 
those  of  the  Columbia,  there  will  be  opened  an  incalculable  wealth  to  trade,  and  a 
remarkable  wilderness  for  the  tourist  to  visit. 

Eastern  Oregon  is  a  vast  region  which  is  now  but  comparatively  little  known.  It 
is,  properly  speaking,  that  region  lying  east  of  the  Blue  Mountain  range  which  runs, 
in  a  general  way,  parallel  with  the  Cascade  and  the  Coast  ranges  of  mountains,  the 
latter  being  close  to  the  sea-border,  while  the  Cascade  Mountains  pretty  nearly  bisect 
the  State.  Near  the  Idaho  border  there  has  been  a  very  considerable  overflow  of  the 
mining  population  from  the  former  State,  but  Eastern  Oregon  is  for  the  most  part 
sparsely  settled. 

The  lands  in  the  valleys  of  Eastern  Oregon  may  be  divided  into  three  classes : 
the  bottom-lands,  consisting  of  alluvial  lands  of  great  depth  and  richness  ;  the  foot- 
hills, which  furnish  many  thousand  square  miles  of  splendid  wheat  acreage  ;  and  the 
pasturage-lands  of  the  upper  hills,  which  are  also  good  for  wheat  when  irrigated. 
These  hill-sides  furnish  a  very  rich  vegetation,  a  great  variety  of  sweet  and  nutritious 
grasses  for  sheep  and  cattle.  In  fact,  the  whole  of  Oregon  is  admirably  adapted  for 
stock-raising  and  the  growth  of  winter  wheat.  Through  most  of  these  valleys  run 
tributaries  of  the  Snake  River,  which  are  the  sources  of  life  and  vegetation.  Between 
the  Blue  and  the  Cascade  Mountains  lies  a  great  stretch  of  open,  rolling  country — 
bare,  rocky  hills,  with  hardly  a  tree  or  a  bush  to  be  seen,  except  bunch-grass  and 
sage-brush.  The  large  flocks  of  sheep,  which  within  a  few  years  have  been  established 


SCENES  IN  NEVADA   AND   OREGON.  221 

on  different  ranches  throughout  this  region,  have  in  great  measure  changed  the  char- 
acter of  the  country,  and  now  a  richer  order  of  vegetation  has  sprung  up  with  the 
close-cropping  of  the  sage-brush  by  the  great  flocks  which  thrive  and  fatten  where 
other  animals  would  starve. 

The  whole  State  of  Oregon  has  an  area  of  ninety-five  thousand  square  miles,  and 
has  average  dimensions  of  three  hundred  and  sixty  miles  by  two  hundred  and  sixty. 
On  the  north  is  Washington  Territory,  from  which  it  is  partly  divided  by  the  Colum- 
bia Kiver ;  on  the  east  is  the  great  mining  State  of  Idaho,  the  Snake  River  furnishing 
a  portion  of  the  boundary ;  and  on  the  south  are  the  States  of  Nevada  and  California, 
while  the  huge  billows  of  the  Pacific  dash  against  its  western  bounds.  The  western 
half  of  the  State  is  very  mountainous,  and  superbly  endowed  with  rich  soil  and 
noble  timber.  The  system  of  water-courses  is  diversified,  and  all  the  natural  condi- 
tions are  eminently  favorable  for  the  growth  of  a  wealthy  and  prosperous  community. 

Western  Oregon  is  not  only  more  easily  accessible,  but  is  most  interesting  to  the 
tourist  on  account  of  its  natural  beauty  and  its  more  agreeable  social  phases.  A 
majority  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  State  are  settled  in  the  Willamette  Valley,  which 
extends  about  two  hundred  miles  south  from  Portland,  the  capital  of  the  State,  with 
a  width  of  some  forty  or  fifty  miles.  The  Willamette  River  runs  into  the  Columbia, 
about  twenty  miles  above  Portland.  This  valley,  on  account  of  its  splendid  climate, 
admirable  soil,  and  fullness  of  natural  resources,  is  by  far  the  most  notable  portion  of 
Oregon. 

A  little  picture  of  an  Oregon  city,  its  population,  and  those  characteristics  which 
belong,  more  or  less,  to  all  new  places,  may  not  prove  devoid  of  interest  to  our 
readers.  Mr.  Wallis  Nash,  who  has  lately  written  a  book  on  Oregon,  thus  describes 
the  little  city  of  Corvallis,  which  lies  about  a  hundred  miles  below  Portland,  on  the 
Willamette  River :  "  Just  a  mile  from  Corvallis,  on  a  gently  rounded  knoll,  we  look 
eastward  across  the  town,  and  the  river,  and  the  broad  valley  beyond,  to  the  Cascade 
Mountains.  Their  lowest  range  is  about  thirty  miles  off,  and  the  rich,  flat  valley 
between  is  hidden  by  the  thick  line  of  timber,  generally  fir,  that  fringes  the  farther 
side  of  the  Willamette.  Against  the  dark  line  of  timber  the  spires  of  the  churches 
and  the  cupola  of  the  court-house  stand  out  clear,  and  the  gray  and  red  shingled 
roofs  of  the  houses  in  the  town  catch  early  rays  of  the  rising  sun.  The  first  to  be 
lighted  up  are  the  great  snow-peaks,  ninety,  seventy,  and  fifty  miles  off — a  ghostly, 
pearly  gray  in  the  dim  morning,  while  the  lower  ranges  lie  in  shadow ;  but,  as  the 
sun  rises  in  the  heavens,  these  same  lower  ranges  grow  distinct  in  their  broken  out- 
lines. The  air  is  so  clear  that  you  see  plainly  the  colors  of  the  bare  red  rocks,  and 
the  heavy,  dark  fir-timber  clothing  their  rugged  sides.  Ere  the  sun  mounts  high 
the  valley  often  lies  covered  with  a  low-lying,  thin,  white  mist,  beyond  and  over 
which  the  mountains  stand  out  clear.  For  some  weeks  in  the  late  summer  heavy 
smoke-clouds,  from  the  many  forest  and  clearing  fires,  obscure  all  distant  view.  This 
last  summer  fires  burned  for  at  least  fifty  miles  in  length,  at  close  intervals  of  dis- 
tance, and  the  dark  gray  pall  overlay  the  mountains  throughout.  Behind  the  house, 


222 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


and  in  easy  view  from  the  windows  on  either  side,  are  the  Coast  Mountains,  or  rather 
hills. 

"  Mary's  Peak  rises  over  four  thousand  feet,  and  is  snow-crowned  for  nine  months 
in  the  year.  The  outlines  of  this  range  are  far  more  gently  rounded  than  the  Cas- 
cades, and  timber-covered  to  the  top.  Save  for  the  solid  line  of  the  heavy  timber, 


Cvrvallis. 

the  outlines  of  the  Coast  Range  constantly  remind  us  of  our  own  Dartmoor ;  and  the 
illusion  is  strengthened  by  the  dark-red  soil  where  the  plow  has  invaded  the  hills, 
yearly  stealing  nearer  to  their  crowns.  Mary's  Peak  itself  is  bare  at  the  top  for 
about  a  thousand  acres,  but  the  firs  clothe  its  sides,  and  the  air  is  so  clear  that,  in 
spite  of  the  seventeen  miles'  distance,  their  serrated  shapes  are  plainly  and  individu- 
ally visible  as  the  sun  sinks  to  rest  behind  the  mountain. 

"  Such  sunsets  as  we  have !  Last  night  I  was  a  mile  or  two  on  the  other  side  of 
the  river  as  night  fell.  Mount  Hood  was  the  first  to  blush,  and  then  Mount  Jeffer- 
son and  the  Three  Sisters  in  turn  grew  rosy  red.  From  the  valley  I  could  not  see 
the  lower  Cascades,  but  these  snowy  pyramids  towered  high  into  the  sky.  One  little 
fleecy  cloud  here  and  there  overhead  caught  the  tinge,  but  the  whole  air  on  the 
eastern  side  was  luminously  pink.  Turning  westward,  the  pale  blue  sky  faded  through 
the  rainbow  green  into  the  rich  orange  surrounding  the  departing  sun,  and  the  west- 
ward mountains  stood  solidly  and  clearly  blue  in  massive  lines." 

Throughout  this  region  the  eye  observes  a  great  number  of  white  farm-houses, 
almost  as  thick  indeed  as  in  New  England.  Near  every  farm-house  is  an  orchard,  and 


SCENES  IN  NEVADA   AND   OREGON.  223 

of  course  a  big  barn,  oftentimes  bigger  than  the  house.  The  houses  are  of  three 
kinds,  log-houses,  box-houses,  and  frame-houses.  The  first  sort  is  by  far  the  most  pict- 
uresque, but  it  is  fast  becoming  obsolete  ;  but  it  is  now  for  the  most  part  used  as 
a  wood-shed  or  pig-pen.  Still,  the  old-fashioned  log-house,  when  at  its  best,  is  an 
exceedingly  comfortable  building,  with,  its  low,  solid,  rugged  walls,  its  overhanging 
shingled  roof,  great  chimney  and  fire-place.  By  the  side  of  the  fire-place,  from  two 
deer's  or  elk's  horns  fastened  to  the  wall,  hang  the  owner's  rifle  and  other  guns. 
Over  the  mantel-shelf  stands  the  ticking  clock,  and  curtained  off  from  the  main  room, 
with  its  roughly  boarded  floor,  are  the  low  bedsteads  of  the  family,  covered  with  patch- 
work. On  the  whole,  it  is  a  rude  yet  inviting  scene. 

Round  the  house  is  the  home-field,  generally  the  orchard,  sown  with  timothy-grass, 
where  range  four  or  five  young  calves,  and  a  sow  or  two,  with  their  hungry,  rooting 
youngsters.  The  barn,  log-built  also,  stands  near  by,  with  two  or  three  colts,  or  year- 
ling cattle,  grouped  around.  The  spring  of  cold,  clear  water  runs  freely  through  the 
orchard,  but  ten  yards  from  the  house-door,  hastening  to  the  "creek,"  whose  murmur 
is  never  absent,  save  in  the  few  driest  weeks  of  summer-time. 

Snake-fences,  seven  logs  high,  with  top-rail  and  crossed  binders  to  keep  all  steady, 
divide  the  farm  from  the  road,  and  a  litter  of  chips  from  the  axe-hewed  pile  of  fire- 
wood strews  the  ground  between  wood-pile  and  house.  Here  and  there,  even  in  the 
home-field,  and  nearly  always  in  the  more  distant  land,  a  big  black  stump  disfigures 
the  surface,  and  betrays  the  poverty  or  possibly  the  carelessness  of  the  owner,  who  has 
carved  his  homestead  from  the  brush.  As  time  progresses  the  log-hut  is  mostly 
replaced  by  far  more  pretentious  houses,  and  the  farm-houses  are  as  attractive  as  in 
the  long-settled  States  of  the  East.  The  Willamette  Valley  and  various  other  parts 
of  Western  Oregon  present  now  as  striking  an  exhibition  of  a  highly  advanced  agri- 
cultural community  as  probably  can  be  found  anywhere  in  America. 

Between  the  Willamette  Valley  and  the  ocean  there  are  beautiful  minor  valleys, 
through  which  streams  pour  into  the  Willamette,  and  others  again  whose  water-courses 
feed  the  great  ocean  itself.  Among  the  latter  is  the  Yaquina  Valley,  which  is  a 
scene  of  pastoral  and  woodland  loveliness  difficult  to  match.  Let  us  again  take  a 
description  from  Mr.  Wallis  Nash,  who  followed  the  course  of  the  valley  on  horseback. 

"  Presently  we  leave  the  Yaquina  River,  which  for  over  twenty  miles  we  have  fol- 
lowed down  its  course  ;  for  never  a  mile  without  taking  in  some  little  brook  where 
the  minnows  are  playing  in  busy  schools  over  the  clean  gravel,  and  the  crawfish  are 
edging  along  and  staggering  back  as  if  walking  were  an  unknown  art  practiced  for 
the  first  time.  The  river  has  grown  from  the  burn  we  first  crossed  to  a  tidal  water- 
course, with  a  channel  fifteen  feet  in  depth,  and,  having  left  its  youthful  vivacity 
behind,  flows  gravely  on,  bearing  now  a  timber-raft,  then  a  wide-floored  scow,  and 
here  the  steam-launch  carrying  the  mail.  But  we  climb  the  highest  hill  we  have 
yet  passed,  where  the  aneroid  shows  eleven  hundred  feet  above  the  sea-level,  and  from 
its  narrow  crest  catch  our  first  sight  of  the  bay,  glittering  between  the  fir-woods  in 
the  morning  sun. 


224 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


"We  leave  the  copse-woods  behind  and  canter  for  miles  along  a  gently  sloping, 
sandy  road ;  the  hills  are  thick  in  fern  and  thimble-berry  bush,  with  the  polished 
leaves  and  waxy-white  flowers  of  the  sallal  frequently  pushing  through.  We  have  got 
used  by  this  time  to  the  black,  burned  trunks,  and  somehow  they  seem  appropriate 
to  the  view.  But  the  sound  of  the  Pacific  waves  beating  on  the  rocky  coast  has 
been  growing  louder. 

"That  dim  blue  haze  in  the  distance  is  the  morning  fog,  which  has  retreated 
from  the  coast  and  left  its  outlines  clear.  On  the  right  is  the  rounded  massive 
cape,  on  the  lowest  ledge  of  which  stands  Foulweather  Light-house.  The  bare  slopes 
and  steep  sea-face  tell  of  its  basaltic  formation,  which  gives  perpendicular  outlines  to 


Yaquina  Bay. 

the  jutting  rocks  against  which,  some  six  miles  off,  the  waves  are  dashing  heavily. 
Between  that  distant  cape  and  the  Yaquina  Light-house  Point  the  coast-line  is  invisi- 
ble from  the  height  on  which  we  stand,  but  the  ceaseless  roar  tells  of  rocky  head- 
lands and .  pebble-strewed  beach.  Below  us  lies  the  bay,  a  calm  haven,  with  its  narrow 
entrance  right  before  us,  and  away  off,  a  mile  at  sea,  a  protecting  line  of  reef,  with 
its  whole  course  and  its  north  and  south  ends  distinctly  marked  by  the  white  break- 
ers spouting  up  with  each  long  swell  of  the  Pacific  waves.  Under  the  shelter  of  the 
light-house  hill,  on  the  northern  side,  stands  the  little  town  of  Newport,  its  twenty  or 
thirty  white  houses  and  boat-frequented  beach  giving  the  suggestion  of  human  life 
and  interest  to  the  scene." 


SUMMER  HAUNTS  BY  THE   SEA. 

Striking  characteristics  of  the  upper  New  England  coa>t — The  cliffs  of  Grand  Munan — Mount  Desert  and  its  remark- 
able fascinations — Sea-shore,  forest,  mountains,  and  lakes  happily  united — The  Eastern  Shore — From  Portland  to 
Portsmouth — The  Isles  of  Shoals  and  their  traditions — Quaint  old  historic  towns — Nahant  and  Swampscott — New- 
port, the  queen  of  American  watering-places— Its  former  commercial  glory  and  historic  importance — The  ocean- 
scenery  about  Newport — Social  life  at  Newport — Coney  Island,  the  antipodes  of  Newport — A  typical  democratic 
watering-place. 

THE  North  Atlantic  coast-line,  which  extends  from  the  eastern  boundary  of  Maine 
to  Old  Point  Comfort,  Virginia,  presents  to  the  pleasure-seeker  scenes  of  the  most 
varied  interest  and  fascination,  whether  he  affects  the  gay  resorts  of  fashion,  or  loves 
the  sweet  and  stimulating  delights  of  the  ocean  and  ocean-scenery  for  their  own  sake. 
There  is  an  embarrassment  of  riches  offered  to  his  choice  which  might  well  perplex 
him,  and  indeed  caiises  many  a  one  to  flit  from  place  to  place  on  our  grand  sea-border, 
catching  fresh  phases  of  enjoyment  and  suggestion  at  each  of  these  charming  summer 
communities.  The  characteristics  of  the  shore  give  a  different  setting  to  almost  every 
mile  of  the  coast,  and  hence  each  sea-side  watering-place  has  its  own  physiognomy 
and  character,  and  offers  something  odd  and  dissimilar  to  its  fellows,  in  spite  of  cer- 
tain general  facts  in  common.  Let  us  make  a  summer  journey  to  some  of  the  typical 
watering-places  of  our  Northern  sea-coast,  to  those  which  are  generally  associated  in 
the  public  mind  with  the  movements  of  the  throngs  of  pilgrims  who  leave  home  and 
business  for  the  tonic  of  the  salty  air  and  tumbling  sea-waves.  In  doing  this,  we  shall 
also  ask  our  readers  to  give  a  passing  glance  at  some  minor  places,  in  themselves  no 
less  delightful  than  those  which  have  been  stamped  with  the  seal  of  fashion,  and 
where  quiet  souls  find,  perhaps,  a  more  perfect  solace  than  in  the  much-frequented 
resorts. 

It  is  difficult  to  plan  a  more  delightful  summer  journey  than  along  that  portion 
of  the  New  England  coast  which  extends  from  Portland  to  Boston,  and  which  by  a 
stretch  may  also  be  made  to  include  the  sea-line  east  of  Portland.  This  region  is 
known  as  the  Eastern  Shore.  Irregular  and  rocky,  deeply  indented  with  bays  of  the 
most  picturesque  outlines,  Nature  has  supplied  it  with  nearly  every  variety  of  beauty, 
from  frowning,  jagged  cliffs,  to  long,  smooth,  curving  beaches,  with  their  background 
of  greenery.  The  lover  of  the  sea-side  here  finds  a  boundless  choice  to  satisfy  his 
most  exacting  taste. 

As  we  pass  along  the  coast  we  shall  find  evidence   how  keenly  its  wonderful  beau- 

15 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


SUMMER  HAUNTS  BY  THE  SEA.  227 

ties  are  appreciated.  Splendid  villas  thickly  dot  the  irregular  border  ;  here  and  there, 
on  breaker-beaten  island  or  bold  projection  of  the  coast,  hotels  and  cottages  an- 
nounce the  summer  watering-place ;  while  on  the  long  stretches  of  otherwise  unoccu- 
pied beach,  or  on  the  grassy  tops  of  headlands,  may  be  often  seen  the  gay  tents  of  a 
camping-out  party.  Nearly  every  mile  some  evidence  presents  itself,  during  the  sum- 
mer months,  of  the  fascination  exercised  over  the  tastes  and  imaginations  of  visitors. 

Let  us  begin  our  journey  far  away  on  the  eastern  border  of  Maine,  at  a  wild  and 
rugged  island  out  of  the  dominion  of  the  United  States — the  Isle  of  Grand  Manan — 
the  home  of  fishermen  and  wild  sea-fowl,  but  abounding  with  every  condition  to 
attract  the  artist  and  lover  of  Nature,  the  sportsman  and  all  addicted  to  the  breezy 
and  stirring  pleasures  of  out-door  life.  It  lies  a  little  southeast  of  Eastport,  and  is 
about  twenty  miles  long  by  five  miles  wide.  It  has  no  mountains,  but  the  shores 
lift  in  tall,  weird,  scarred,  strangely  marked  cliffs.  At  the  northern  end  of  the  island 
they  are  four  hundred  feet  high,  and  the  sea  beats  against  their  base  in  a  ceaseless 
conflict. 

Manan  is  an  Indian  word,  meaning  "island."  The  French  voyageur,  Champlain, 
passed  the  island  in  1605,  and  speaks  of  the  island  as  Manthane.  Up  to  the  time  of 
the  Eevolution  it  was  only  inhabited  by  Indians,  but  now  a  number  of  fishing  villages 
have  grown  on  its  shores,  containing  about  eighteen  hundred  of  the  bold  toilers  of 
the  sea.  Although  it  is  only  nine  miles  from  the  mainland,  it  often  takes  a  week  to 
cross  the  narrow  channel  or  sound.  Fogs  abound  here ;  the  tides  are  terribly  swift 
and  strong ;  gales  are  frequent,  and  these  often  unite  to  retard  the  progress  of  a  sail- 
ing-vessel. ,  When  the  big  hotels  go  up,  as  they  will  some  day  on  this  wild,  sea-girt 
place,  steamers,  of  course,  will  remove  the  difficulty,  and  make  the  place  easy  of 
access. 

There  is  a  charm  in  grand  sea-beaten  cliffs  which  throws  its  magic  over  every  one. 
The  sea  chafes  without  rest  at  their  base,  tearing  down  great  masses  of  rock,  eating 
out  channels,  and  caves,  and  long  galleries,  carving  pinnacles  and  other  fantastic 
shapes,  as  if  with  the  chisel  of  a  sculptor — the  waves  for  ever  hurling  themselves  on 
the  frowning  wall,  and  the  rocks  for  ever  set  hard  and  defiant  against  the  restless 
waves.  Then  the  wild  sea-birds  that  hover  about  the  rocky  heights ;  the  strange 
marine  forms  which  are  stranded  by  the  retiring  waves  in  caves  and  recesses ;  the 
fogs  that  sail  up  from  the  sea  and  shroud  crag  and  headland,  ships  and  water,  sky 
and  space,  in  their  dense  veil ;  the  breezes  that  blow  rich  with  the  salty  flavor  of  the 
Atlantic,  and  fill  the  lungs  with  a  glow  like  that  of  champagne  in  the  blood  ;  the 
freshness,  the  breeziness,  the  expanse,  the  wild  ruggedness,  the  roar  and  break  of  the 
sea,  the  stern  defiance  of  the  rocks,  the  sails  that  come  and  go  with  such  free  and 
.graceful  wings  over  the  blue  outing — all  these  things  thrill  the  blood  and  charm  the 
eye. 

But,  if  we  find  such  attractions  at  Grand  Manan,  we  discover  a  still  more  potent 
charm  at  Mount  Desert.  The  bold  and  diversified  coast  of  Maine  presents  aspects 
which  place  it  apart  as  a  section  of  the  Atlantic  coast-line,  and  Mount  Desert  Island, 


228 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


C'aetle  Head,  Mount  Hexert, 

which  lies  in  Frenchman's  Bay,  about  forty  miles  southeast  from  Bangor,  may  be 
regarded  as  one  of  the  most  striking  types  of  this  peculiar  beauty.  We  reach  the 
island,  which  has  of  late  years  attracted  more  attention,  perhaps,  than  any  other  sea- 
side summer-resort  in  the  country,  by  steamboat  from  Portland  or  Bangor — a  brief 
voyage,  skirting  a  striking  shore,  and  full  of  pleasant  surprises  as  the  boat  winds 
through  intricate  channels  and  pretty  islands  which  fringe  the  irregular  line  of  the 
coast.  Mount  Desert  has  an  area  of  one  hundred  square  miles,  its  dimensions  being 
fourteen  miles  in  length  and  eight  miles  at  its  greatest  width.  At  the  northern  end 
it  approaches  the  mainland  so  nearly  that  a  bridge  has  been  thrown  across,  and  it  is 
almost  pierced  in  two  parts  by  an  inlet  known  as  Somes's  Sound,  which  is  seven 
miles  long. 


SUMMER  HAUNTS  BY  THE  SEA.  229 

"The  island,"  says  Mr.  Carter,  in  his  "Summer  Cruise,",  "is  a  mass  of  mount- 
ains crowded  together,  and  seemingly  rising  from  the  water.  As  you  draw  near  they 
resolve  themselves  into  thirteen  distinct  peaks,  the  highest  of  which  is  two  thousand 
feet  above  the  ocean.  Certainly  only  in  the  tropics  can  the  scene  be  excelled — only  in 
the  gorgeous  isles  of  the  Indian  and  Pacific  Oceans.  On  the  coast  of  America  it  has 
no  rival,  except  perhaps  at  the  bay  of  Rio  Janeiro."  The  assemblage  of  picturesque 
features  at  Mount  Desert  is  quite  remarkable.  It  is  surrounded  by  seas,  crowned  with 
mountains,  and  gemmed  with  lakes.  On  the  bold,  beetling  cliffs  of  its  shores  the 
breakers  for  immemorial  time  have  gnawed  and  bitten  with  fm'ious  attack.  Here,  in 
one  picture,  are  frowning  cliffs  echoing  with  the  roar  of  restless  breakers ;  far  reaches 
of  bay,  dotted  with  lovely  little  islands ;  pellucid  mountain-lakes  reflecting  the  preci- 
pices that  tower  above  them  ;  rugged  gorges  clothed  with  primitive  forests ;  and 
sheltered  coves  where  the  wavelets  dimple  the  shining  beach.  Masses  of  rock,  heaped 
on  one  another  as  if  hurled  by  giants  in  their  play,  are  piled  up  on  the  shores ;  and 
hard  by  one  perceives  wonderful  sea-caverns,  where  the  retiring  waves  have  left  sea- 
creatures  of  the  strangest  form  and  beauty.  On  the  mountains  are  frightful  precipices, 
far  prospects  of  the  glittering,  restless  sea,  mazes  of  land  and  water,  and  magnificent 
forests  of  fir  and  spruce.  Such  a  union  of  landscape  attractions  Nature  rarely 
affords,  even  when  in  her  most  lavish  humor. 

Mount  Desert  was  discovered  by  the  French  under  Champlain  in  the  early  part  of 
the  seventeenth  century,  and  they  gave  its  name,  as  expressive  of  the  wild  and  savage 
aspects  of  the  mountains  and  cliffs  that  front  the  sea.  In  1619  the  French  formed  a 
settlement,  which  was  named  Saint  Sauveur,  but  in  a  few  years  it  met  a  cruel  fate. 
The  Virginian  settlers  were  accustomed  to  fish  on  the  New  England  coast,  and  the 
captain  of  an  armed  vessel,  hearing  from  the  Indians  of  the  settlement,  sailed  down 
on  it,  and  with  a  single  broadside  made  himself  its  master,  some  of  the  settlers  being 
killed  and  others  carried  into  captivity.  Abraham  Somes  made  the  first  permanent 
settlement  in  1761,  and  built  a  house  at  the  head  of  the  sound  which  now  bears  his 
name. 

There  are  now  three  townships  on  this  island — Tremont,  Mount  Desert,  and  Eden  ; 
and  of  the  several  harbors  the  best  known  are  Southwest,  Northeast,  and  Bar  Harbor. 
The  latter  is  on  the  eastern  shore,  opposite  the  Porcupine  Islands ;  and  the  village  at 
this  harbor  known  as  East  Eden  is  the  principal  haunt  of  tourists  and  summer  vis- 
itors. Containing  fourteen  large  hotels  of  more  or  less  excellence,  this  village  has 
great  advantages  on  account  of  the  facilities  it  affords  for  boating  and  fishing,  and  its 
convenient  place  with  relation  to  the  multitude  of  interesting  sights  and  objects  with 
which  the  island  abounds.  The  aspect  of  summer-life  differs  considerably  here  from 
that  characteristic  of  other  watering-places.  The  dolce  far  niente,  the  supine  and 
empty  listlessness,  the  dawdling  on  hotel-piazzas  by  day,  and  the  fashionable  dissipa- 
tion by  night,  give  place  at  Mount  Desert  to  alert  and  active  enjoyment  of  all  the 
beauties  of  nature.  Walking,  sailing,  and  sketching  parties  keep  the  little  summer 
population  in  perpetual  movement,  and  the  pale-faced  denizens  of  cities,  under  the 


230 


OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 


influence  of  the  bracing  air,  the  stimulus  of  lovely  scenery,  and  the  life-giving  effects 
of  exercise,  soon  become  new  men  and  women.  Brown,  bright-eyed  girls,  with  short 
skirts,  huge  straw  hats,  and  mountain-staff  in  hand,  may  be  seen  skipping  about  in 
every  part  of  the  island,  and  ready  to  dare  almost  any  danger  in  climbing  the  rocks, 
which  are  sometimes  formidable,  even  to  the  experienced  cragsman.  At  almost  every 
turn  you  will  meet  joyous  parties  bent  on  exploring  every  nook  and  corner,  and  re- 


Clifs  at  Mount  Dewrt. 

gardless  of  fatigue  and  peril.  This  hearty  enjoyment  of  out-door  life  is  the  pervading 
spirit  of  the  summer  visitors,  and  the  most  lazy  and  listless  people  soon  feel  the  effect 
of  the  influence. 

The  mountains  of  Mount  Desert  are  seen  to  best  advantage  from  the  sea,  and  the 
approach  to  the  harbor  gives  a  fine  succession  of  scenic  effects.  The  mountains  are 
in  the  southern  half  of  the  island,  and  lie  in  seven  ridges  running  nearly  north  and 
south.  There  are  thirteen  distinct  peaks,  the  highest  of  which  is  known  as  Green 
Mountain,  and  the  next  in  size,  separated  from  the  other  by  a  deep  gorge,  as  New- 
port. The  western  sides  of  the  mountains  slope  gradually  upward  to  the  summits, 


SUMMER  HAUNTS  BY  THE  SEA.  231 

but  on  the  east  they  break  off  sharp  in  huge  precipices.  Newport  rises  almost  iu 
an  abrupt  line  from  the  water's  edge  a  thousand  feet  in  height. 

The  exploration  of  Mount  Desert  affords  a  continual  series  of  delightful  surprises. 
The  ascent  of  Green  Mountain  rewards  the  climber  with  a  panorama  of  land  and 
water  difficult  to  match  anywhere  in  beauty  and  picturesqueness.  But  perhaps  the 
greatest  pleasure  is  found  in  exploring  the  series  of  rocks  and  cliffs  extending  along 
the  shore.  One  of  the  notable  places  is  known  by  the  not  very  romantic  name  of 
"  The  Ovens,"  which  lie  some  six  or  seven  miles  up  the  bay.  The  shore  at  this  point 
has  a  delicious  serenity  and  repose.  The  waters  ripple  calmly  at  the  base  of  the  cliffs, 
and  only  when  the  wind  is  high  do  breakers  dash  against  the  sculptured  rocks.  Fine 
trees  crown  the  top  of  the  perpendicular  walls,  and  cast  their  shadows  on  the  beach. 
Grass  and  flowers  grow  along  the  range,  and  in  the  crevices  of  the  rocky  face  rich 
greenery  and  flowering  shrubs  may  be  seen,  making  a  vivid  contrast  with  the  many- 
tinted  walls.  "The  Ovens"  are  cavities  worn  by  the  waves  in  the  sides  of  the  cliffs, 
some  of  them  being  large  enough  to  hold  thirty  or  forty  people.  All  these  caves  are 
natural  aquaria,  where  the  visitor  sees  strange  and  beautiful  forms  of  marine  life,  sea- 
anemones,  star-fish,  sea-urchins,  etc.  The  sunny  bay,  the  white-winged  yachts  gliding 
on  the  water,  the  peaceful  shores,  the  imposing  cliffs,  crowned  with  the  green  forest, 
make  a  picture  of  great  loveliness. 

When  the  winds  lash  the  ocean  into  fury,  the  more  exposed  cliffs  of  Mount  Des- 
ert offer  a  grand  spectacle.  The  following  description  of  a  storm  as  witnessed  at 
"  Schooner  Head  " — so  called  from  the  appearance  of  its  sea-face,  which  derives  its 
principal  interest  from  the  "Spouting  Horn,"  a  wide  chasm  in  the  cliff  extending 
down  to  the  water,  and  opening  to  the  sea  through  a  small  archway  below  high- 
water  mark — gives  a  forcible  picture  of  such  a  scene  : 

"  The  breakers  hurl  themselves  with  such  wild  fury  through  the  cavernous  open- 
ing against  the  wall  of  rock,  that  their  spray  is  hurled  a  hundred  feet  above  the 
opening  at  the  top  of  the  cliff,  as  if  a  vast  geyser  were  extemporized  on  the  shore. 
The  scene  is  inspiring  and  terrible.  Visitors  to  Mount  Desert  but  half  understand  or 
appreciate  its  wonders  if  they  do  not  visit  its  cliffs  in  a  storm.  On  the  softest  sum- 
mer day  the  angry  but  subdued  roar,  with  which  the  breakers  ceaselessly  assault  the 
rocks,  gives  a  vague  intimation  what  their  fury  is  when  the  gale  lashes  them  into 
tumult.  At  such  times  they  hurl  themselves  against  the  cliffs  with  a  violence  that 
threatens  to  beat  down  the  rocky  barriers  and  submerge  the  land ;  their  spray  deluges 
the  abutments  to  the  very  top,  and  the  thunder  of  their  angry  crash  against  the 
rocks  may  be  heard  for  miles.  But  at  other  times  the  ceaseless  war  they  make  upon 
the  shore  seems  to  be  one  of  defeat.  The  waves  come  in  full,  sweeping  charge  on 
the  rocks,  but  hastily  fall  back  broken  and  discomfited,  giving  place  to  fresh  levies, 
who  repeat  the  first  assault  and,  like  their  predecessors,  are  hurled  back  defeated. 
The  war  is  endless,  and  yet  by  slow  degrees  the  sea  gains  on  its  grim  and  silent 
enemy.  It  undermines,  it  makes  channels,  it  gnaws  caverns,  it  eats  out  chasms,  it 
wears  away  little  by  little  the  surface  of  the  stone,  it  summons  the  aid  of  frost  and 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

heat  to  dislodge  and  pull  down  great  fragments  of  masonry,  it  grinds  into  sand,  it 
gashes  into  scars,  and  it  will  never  rest  until  it  has  dragged  down  the  opposing  walls 
into  its  depths." 

One  of  the  pleasing  features  of  Mount  Desert  is  found  in  its  striking  cloud-effects. 
The  sun  is  shining  brightly,  when  suddenly  the  mist  begins  to  creep  in  over  the  sur- 
face of  the  water,  ascending  in  rapid  drifts  the  side  of  the  mountain,  and  gradually 
enveloping  the  islands  of  the  bay  till  the  whole  landscape  is  blotted  out  from  view. 
In  another  hour  the  veil  is  rent ;  the  mountains  pierce  the  solid  shadows ;  the  islands 
again  gleam  in  the  sunlight,  and  the  landscape  glows  anew  with  life  and  beauty. 
For  one  sitting  on  the  rocky  headlands  on  the  seaward  side  of  the  isle,  on  a  day 
when  the  fog  and  sun  fight  for  supremacy,  the  pictures  which  the  fog  makes  and  un- 
makes are  weird  and  beautiful.  Sometimes  the  fog-banks,  blotting  out  the  base  of 
'the  islands,  leave  only  a  slender  line  of  tree-tops  painted  against  the  blue  ether,  like 
forests  in  the  sky.  Then,  again,  vessels  sail  through  the  mist  like  shadowy  ghosts, 
the  top-sails  flashing  like  the  white  wings  of  huge  birds.  Suddenly  the  fog  shifts, 
and  one  single  vessel  stands  out  like  a  brilliant  picture,  all  the  rest  being  wrapped 
up  in  the  fog.  The  pictures  thus  formed  are  almost  endless,  and  make  a  series  of 
dissolving  views  of  the  most  unique  sort.  Again  the  eye  observes  the  marvelous 
exhibition  of  a  mirage,  when  fleets  appear  sailing  in  the  upper  air. 

To  recount  the  many  wonders  and  beauties  of  Mount  Desert  would  take  too  much 
space.  Its  mountains,  its  beetling,  jagged  walls  of  cliff,  frowning  on  the  sea-front, 
suggesting  old  Norman  keeps,  cathedrals,  ruined  temples,  and  other  wonders  of 
architecture ;  its  charming  lakes  and  fine  old  forests ;  its  numberless  views  rewarding 
the  seeker  with  the  greatest  variety  of  effects ;  its  striking  phases  of  atmosphere,  fog, 
and  light,  producing  aerial  pictures  of  the  greatest  beauty — all  these  make  Mount 
Desert  a  justly  celebrated  resort  for  the  lover  of  Nature.  It  is  only  a  few  years  since 
the  attractions  of  the  island  have  become  celebrated,  and  now  it  is  one  of  the  best- 
known  summer  haunts  of  the  United  States,  not  because  it  furnishes  the  best  hotels 
and  the  gay  show  of  fashionable  equipages  and  costly  dresses,  but  because  it  brings  the 
visitor  in  close  contact  with  so  many  aspects  of  the  sweetness  and  grandeur  of  Nature. 

On  our  way  toward  Portland  we  pass  by  Castine  and  Pemaquid  Point,  both  ex- 
ceedingly picturesque  in  their  surroundings,  and  even  yet  bearing  the  remains  of  the 
old  forts  linked  to  interesting  traditions  of  colonial  and  Revolutionary  times.  Near 
the  latter  place  is  Monhegan  Island,  just  off  which  occurred  a  gallant  naval  action 
during  the  Revolution  between  the  American  ship  Enterprise  and  the  English  ship 
Boxer,  resulting  in  the  capture  of  the  latter,  and  the  death  of  both  commanders.  It 
is  this  sea-fight  of  which  Longfellow  sings  in  his  "  Lost  Youth  "  : 

"  I  remember  the  sea-fight  far  away 
How  it  thundered  over  the  tide ! 
And  the  dead  captains  as  they  lay 
In  their  graves  overlooking  the  tranquil  bay 
Where  they  in  battle  died." 


SUMMER   HAUNTS  BY  THE  SEA. 


233 


234 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


Nothing  can  be  more. striking  than  the  ocean-scenery  about  Portland,  or  the  situ- 
ation itself  of  that  most  rural  of  New  England  cities,  as  it  perches  on  its  high  cliffs 
above  bay,  valley,  island,  and  sea.  Settled  early  in  colonial  history,  its  quaint  old 
houses  continued  to  mark  many  of  the  streets  till  the  fire  of  1868,  which  swept  away 
the  ancient  aspect  of  the  city,  and  made  place  for  the  pretty  modern  town  which 
has  taken  its  place.  The  people  of  Portland  may  well  be  proud  of  their  beautiful 
city,  for,  in  site,  surroundings  of  landscape,  perfection  of  harbor,  and  general  cheer- 


>^;>..; 

CT»/«,  Portland  Harbw. 

fulness  of  aspect,  it  has  but  few  rivals.  The  landscapes  about  Portland  are  rather 
soft  and  cheerful  than  grand  and  rugged.  The  islands  which  dot  its  bay  are  bright 
in  summer  with  the  greenest  grass  and  foliage,  and  are  so  numerous  that  they  are 
said  to  equal  the  days  of  the  year.  This  beautiful  bay  has  been  compared  to  the 
Bay  of  Naples,  so  broad  is  its  expanse,  so  charmingly  framed  in  ranges  of  green,  undu- 
lating hills.  Cape  Elizabeth  forms  the  outermost  southern  point  of  the  bay,  and  is  a 
series  of  lofty,  jutting  cliffs,  rising  abruptly  from  the  ocean  and  crowned  with  wood 


SUMMER   HAUNTS  BY  THE  SEA. 


235 


and  shrubbery,  relieving  its  gauntness.  Two  light-houses  stand  on  the  end  of  the 
cape,  and  from  these  a  charming  view  of  the  bay  and  harbor,  of  the  distant  city,  of 
the  innumerable  islands  lying  between  shore  and  shore,  and,  in  the  distance,  of  the 
ragged  and  storm-beaten  promontories  to  the  north,  may  be  obtained.  Nearer  Port- 
land is  Peak's  Island,  with  its  rich  foliage,  natural  bowers,  and  lovely  retreats ;  and 
close  by  again,  Diamond  Island,  a  pet  place  for  picnics,  as  it  is  famous  for  its 
groves  of  fine  trees,  its  rocky  shores  interspersed  with  pretty  bits  of  beach,  and  its 
natural  lawns  of  deep-green  turf. 

Cushing's  Island  is  one  of  the  most  attractive  spots  in  the  harbor.  High  cliffs, 
crowned  with  shrubs  and  turf,  hem  it  in,  and  here  and  there  a  low,  rocky  shore  or 
graceful  inlet.  There  is  but  one  building  on  the  island,  a  large  hotel  for  summer 
sojourners,  and  the  view  from  this  is  very  extensive.  It  includes  the  harbor,  ship- 
channel,  and  city,  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  steep  cliffs  of  Cape  Elizabeth  on  the 


of  & 


other.  In  the  near  distance  are  the  frowning  bastions  of  Forts  Preble,  Scammell, 
and  Gorges  ;  the  busy  wharves  of  the  city,  crowded  with  shipping,  are  seen  not  far 
away  ;  the  islands  present  novel  contrasts  of  shape  and  color  ;  the  heavy  sea-breakers 
may  be  seen  melting  into  the  gentle  ripple  of  the  bay,  and  far  away  to  the  north- 
west the  dim  outlines  of  Mount  Washington  and  the  New  Hampshire  hills. 

Charming,  old-fashioned,  slumbering  New  England  towns  mark  the  coast  every 
few  miles  as  we  proceed  on  our  way  to  the  Isles  of  Shoals.  If  we  choose  to  tramp 
along  the  shore,  knapsack  on  the  back  —  for  this  is  by  far  the  pleasantest  and  most 
satisfactory  way  of  exploring  the  beauties  of  the  Eastern  Shore  —  we  shall  find  it  pleas- 
ant to  rest  every  few  miles  at  these  quaint  old  places.  The  town  of  Wells,  about 
thirty-five  miles  from  Portland,  is  one  continuous  street,  stretching  for  five  or  six 
miles  along  the  shore,  and  everywhere  commanding  a  noble  and  unbroken  ocean-view. 
The  little  town  bristles  with  history  and  legend,  carrying  the  mind  far  back  to  the 


236  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

olden  time.  One  of  its  founders  was  John  Wheelright,  the  friend  and  college-mate 
of  Oliver  Cromwell.  Many  a  desperate  Jndian  skirmish  and  foray  was  fought  in  its 
vicinity.  George  Burroughs,  one  of  its  early  burghers,  was  a  fierce  and  scornful 
derider  of  the  witch-persecution,  which  cast  such  a  stain  on  the  early  history  of  New 
England.  According  to  tradition,  the  officers  of  the  Bloody  Council  seized  him  as  he 
was  coming  out  of  church,  and  haled  him  away  to  Salem,  where  he  was  hanged  on 
Gallows  Hill.  The  proof  brought  against  Burroughs,  who  was  very  strong,  was  that 
he  could  hold  a  musket  out  at  arm's-length  by  thrusting  his  finger  into  the  muzzle. 
He  had  once  seen  an  Indian  do  this,  and  repeated  the  feat,  swearing  it  was  a  shame 
for  a  red-skin  to  do  what  a  white  man  couldn't. 

The  long  and  beautiful  beach,  which  we  find  crowded  with  summer  idlers  from 
the  hotels,  has  been  the  scene  of  many  a  direful  wreck,  and  here  and  there  the  bones 
of  a  lost  ship  protrude  from  the  drifted  sand,  the  grisly  memorial  of  the  terrible 
battle  of  human  life  with  the  winds  and  waves. 

On  the  way  from  Wells  to  Old  York,  we  pass  the  grand  precipice  known  as  the 
Pulpit.  This  is  a  perpendicular  wall  of  rock  about  ninety  feet  high,  and  a  hundred 
and  fifty  feet  long,  a  buttress  against  which  the  Atlantic  beats  with  a  ceaseless  battle. 
In  severe  storms  it  is  said  that  the  breakers  dash  their  spray  to  its  very  top,  and  that 
it  is  with  great  difficulty  one  can  stand  upright  upon  it.  Underneath  the  cliff  is  a 
curious  basin  hollowed  out  by  the  waves,  in  which  a  vessel  of  large  tonnage  could 
float  without  touching  a  must  or  spar. 

We  pass  by  Kennebunkport,  which  has  extensive  ship-yards,  and  is  thronged  with 
pleasure-seekers  in  'the  summer,  and  after  a  brisk  walk  reach  York,  once  known  as 
Agamenticus,  a  name  still  perpetuated  in  the  solitary  mountain  which  lifts  itself  like 
a  giant  sentinel  high  above  the  surrounding  country.  The  town  is  nearly  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  years  old,  and,  in  spite  of  the  gayety  which  it  puts  on  with  the  advent 
of  its  summer  population,  still  preserves  many  of  its  quaint  old  characteristics  in  the 
appearance  of  the  houses  and  the  ways  of  its  people.  Old  York  is  very  interesting 
in  its  relics  of  antiquity,  and  exceedingly  quaint  traditions  hang  about  the  old  church, 
jail,  and  other  buildings.  One  of  its  early  clergymen,  Parson  Moody,  was  the  hero  of 
one  of  Hawthorne's  most  gloomy  tales,  in  his  "Mosses  from  an  Old  Manse." 

Kittery  is  the  most  westerly  town  of  Maine,  and  is  separated  from  Portsmouth  by 
the  Piscataqua  River.  Here  is  located  one  of  the  navy-yards  of  the  country,  on  an 
island  in  the  harbor.  All  the  surroundings  of  Kittery  and  Portsmouth  are  of  great 
beauty,  and  well  worth  a  lingering  stay  on  the  part  of  the  traveler  in  search  of  the 
picturesque.  Portsmouth  is  situated  on  the  river-bank,  about  three  miles  from  the 
sea,  and  looks  out  on  a  spacious  and  noble  bay.  "There  are  more  quaint  houses  and 
interesting  traditions,"  says  one  writer,  "than  in  any  other  town  of  New  England." 
But  this  claim  probably  would  be  disputed  by  many  another  place  proud  of  its  colonial 
traditions.  It  is  truly  an  ancient  and  tranquil  -  looking  place,  with  devious,  deeply- 
shaded  streets,  which  seem  as  if  they  had  been  dreaming  for  centuries.  Portsmouth 
was  settled  in  1623,  and  took  an  important  share  in  the  stirring  events  of  an  early 


SUMMER   HAUNTS  BY  THE  SEA. 


237 


A  I*icnic  at  the  Jfd$s  nf  Shoals 


238  OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 


period.  It  was  first  known  as  Strawberry  Bank,  from  the  great  quantities  of  straw- 
berries growing  in  the  vicinity  ;  and  was  at  one  time  fortified  all  around  by  a  wall 
of  palisades  to  protect  it  from  Indian  attacks. 

The  chief  natural  attraction  in  the  neighborhood  of  Portsmouth  is  the  Isles  of 
Shoals,  a  group  of  eight  rugged  islands  about  eight  miles  from  shore,  and  one  of  the 
celebrated  ocean  resorts  of  the  country,  as  several  of  them  are  covered  with  fine 
hotels  and  summer  cottages.  The  isles  are  small — the  largest,  Appledore,  only  con- 
taining about  three  hundred  and  fifty  acres.  From  the  mainland  they  appear  like 
low-lying  clouds,  but,  as  the  little  steamboat  approaches,  they  separate  into  bleak  and 
barren  islets,  with  jagged  reefs  running  far  out  into  the  breakers.  Appledore  rises  in 
the  shape  of  a  hog's  back,  about  seventy-five  feet  above  the  sea,  and  is  divided  by  a 
picturesque  little  valley  containing  clumps  of  shrubbery,  among  which  nestle  the  hotels 
and  the  pretty  cottages  attached  to  them.  On  these  gaunt  rocks  the  lonely  beauty  of 
the  ocean  can  be  enjoyed  to  the  uttermost,  for  here  the  only  sounds  are  the  lash 
and  murmur  of  the  billows  as  they  sweep  and  swirl  around  the  ragged  rocks.  Close 
by  Appledore  is  Smutty  Nose  Island,  on  whose  perilous  reefs  many  a  gallant  ship 
has  been  broken  to  pieces.  The  traditions  of  shipwreck,  which  attach  to  all  these 
islands,  indeed,  are  full  of  tragic  interest,  and  from  time  immemorial  they  have 
wrought  destruction  to  the  mariner.  Smutty  Nose  has  of  late  years  had  the  shadow 
of  a  still  more  gloomy  tragedy  hanging  over  it,  for  it  was  on  this  island  that  one  of 
the  most  sickening  murders  in  the  criminal  history  of  our  country  was  perpetrated 
— the  butchery  of  a  fisherman's  family  by  the  Prussian,  Wagner.  Few  events  of  this 
kind  have  been  more  sensational,  or  sent  such  a  thrill  of  horror  through  the  country. 

Like  many  another  wave-worn,  lonely  place,  these  islands  are  full  of  the  traditions 
of  Captain  Kidd  and  other  daring  freebooters,  and  not  without  some  stable  foundation. 
Here  was  known  to  be  a  favorite  haunt  of  the  captain  of  the  famous  Adventure  gal- 
ley, and  some  genuine  discoveries  of  treasure,  it  is  said,  have  been  made  among  these 
bleak  rocks  and  caverns.  The  celebrated  pirate,  Blackboard,  who  was  such  a  scourge 
to  the  Atlantic  coast  during  colonial  times,  was  in  the  habit  of  spending  much  time 
on  these  islands,  and  his  crew  consorted  with  the  half-savage  fishermen,  leaving  a  last- 
ing impress  on  their  moral  and  social  habits. 

Among  the  legends  still  told  by  the  old  fish-wives  is  that  of  one  of  Blackbeard's 
comrades,  a  Scot,  who  gained  nearly  as  bad  a  reputation  as  his  chief.  His  crew 
believed  him  invincible,  and  followed  wherever  he  led.  At  last,  after  the  rich  booty 
of  the  Southern  seas  and  the  Spanish  Main  had  filled  his  coffers  to  overflowing,  he 
arrived  on  his  native  coast.  His  boat  was  manned,  and  he  went  ashore,  and  soon 
returned  again  bearing  the  almost  lifeless  body  of  a  beautiful  woman.  The  pirate 
cruiser  set  sail  for  America,  and  in  due  time  came  to  anchor  at  the  Isles  of  Shoals. 
Here  the  crew  passed  their  time  in  concealing  their  booty  and  in  carousing.  The 
commander's  portion  was  buried  on  an  isle  apart  from  the  rest,  and  he  dwelt  with 
his  beautiful  companion,  forgetful  of  his  bloody  trade,  till  one  day  a  sail  was  seen  in 
the  offiing.  Before  the  pirate-ship  got  under  way  to  meet  the  stranger,  which  was 


SUMMER   HAUNTS  BY  THE  SEA. 


239 


» 


a  king's  cruiser,  the 
outlaw  revealed  the 
place  of  his  buried 
treasure  to  his  mis- 
tress, and  bound  her 
by  a  fearful  oath  to 
guard  the  secret  till 

his  return,   if  it  should   be   delayed  till   the 
crack  of  doom. 

In  the  fierce  battle  which  ensued  between 
the  freebooters  and  their  assailants,  the  for- 
mer were  beaten,  and,  driven  to  desperation, 
blew  up  their  powder-magazine,  involving 
themselves  and  their  foes  in  a  common  fate. 
A  few  mangled  and  blood-stained  survivors 
reached  the  shore,  and  perished  gradually  by 

cold  and  hunger.      The  pirate's  mistress  remained  true  to  the  last,  till  she   too,  per- 
haps, succumbed  to  want  and  exposure.      Report  has  it  that  she  has  been  seen  more 


CwadPs  Peak,  Star  Island. 


240 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


than  once  on  White  Island,  a  tall,  shapely  figure,  wrapped  in  a  sea-cloak,  her  head 
and  shoulders  uncovered  except  by  a  profusion  of  golden  hair.  Her  face  is  described 
as  exquisitely  lovely  and  sad,  and  always  gazing  out  at  the  sea  in  an  attitude  of 
intense  expectation.  It  is  believed  by  the  superstitious  islanders  that  her  ghost  is 
doomed  to  haunt  these  rocks  till  the  sound  of  the  last  trump. 

About  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  Appledore  is  the  most  picturesque  of  the  cluster, 
Star  Island,  which  contains  the  quaint  little  village  of  Gosport,  the  quaint-towered 
and  steepled  church  of  which  crowns  its  highest  point.  On  the  west  is  Londoner's, 
jagged  and  shapeless,  with  a  diminutive  beach  ;  while,  two  miles  off,  Duck  Island 


Does  Rocks,  GlvucesUr. 

raises  its  forbidding  and  dangerous  form  from  the  waters.  Many  of  the  ledges  of  the 
latter  are  insidiously  covered  at  high  water,  and  at  ebb-tide  are  seen  lined  with  sea- 
gulls, which  avoid  the  inhabited  islets. 

These  quaint,  bleak,  wave-battered  rocks  have  a  charm  all  their  own,  and  the 
glamour  of  history  and  legend  lends  them  an  additional  fascination,  which  fanciful 
persons  are  quick  to  feel.  Thousands  of  summer  pleasure-seekers  have  learned  to  love 
the  Isles  of  Shoals  as  a  place  of  unique  delights.  No  one  has  written  more  lovingly 
of  the  spot  than  Celia  Thaxter,  the  poetess,  who  was  born  on  Appledore  ;  and  we 
can  not  better  finish  our  brief  ramblings  than  by  a  bit  of  description  from  her  pen  : 
"Swept  by  every  wind  that  blows,  and  beaten  by  the  bitter  brine  for  unknown  ages, 


SUMMER   HAUNTS  BY  THE  SEA.  241 

well  may  the  Isles  of  Shoals  be  barren,  bleak,  and  bare.  At  first  sight  nothing  can 
be  more  rough  and  inhospitable  than  they  appear.  The  incessant  influences  of  wind 
and  rain,  sun,  frost,  and  spray,  have  so  bleached  the  tops  of  the  rocks  that  they 
look  hoary,  as  if  with  age,  though  in  the  summer-time  a  gracious  greenness  of  vege- 
tation breaks  here  and  there  the  stern  outlines  and  softens  somewhat  their  rugged 
aspect.  Yet  so  forbidding  are  their  shores,  it  seems  scarcely  worth  while  to  land 
on  them — mere  heaps  of  tumbling  granite  in  the  wild  and  lonely  sea — when  all  the 
'sapphire-spangled  marriage-ring'  of  the  land  lies  ready  to  woo  the  voyager  back 
again,  and  welcome  his  returning  prow  with  pleasant  sounds,  and  sights,  and  scents, 
that  the  wild  waters  never  knew.  But,  to  the  human  creature  who  has  eyes  which 
will  see  and  ears  that  will  hear,  Nature  appeals  with  such  a  novel  charm  that  the 
luxuriant  beauty  of  the  land  is  half  forgotten  before  he  is  aware.  The  very  wildness 
and  desolation  reveal  a  strange  beauty  to  him.  In  the  early  morning  the  sea  is  rosy 
and  the  sky ;  the  line  of  land  .is  radiant ;  the  scattered  sails  glow  with  the  delicious 
color  that  touches  so  tenderly  the  bare,  bleak  rocks." 

Between  Portsmouth  and  Newburyport,  Massachusetts,  the  ocean -shore  is  nearly 
straight,  without  the  rugged  bowlders  and  storm-hewed  rocks  which  have  hitherto 
marked  the  coast-line,  and  we  find  our  journey  over  sunny  stretches  of  beach  instead 
of  skirting  craggy  headlands  and  sinuous  inlets,  or  leaping  over  yawning  fissures  and 
shapeless  projections.  Rye,  Hampton,  and  Salisbury,  occupy  most  of  the  limited 
coast  of  New  Hampshire,  and  present  charming  reaches  of  sand,  on  which  the  waves 
break  with  a  musical  plash  instead  of  dashing  in  thunderous  breakers  against  walls 
of  frowning  rock.  All  along  we  find  cozy  sea-side  cottages  and  summer  hotels,  and 
the  beach  is,  with  few  breaks,  alive  with  carriages,  saunterers,  and  bathers. 

Some  three  miles  up  the  broad  bay,  which  serves  as  the  mouth  of  the  Merrimac 
River,  we  espy  the  ancient  historic  town  of  Newburyport,  built  on  an  abrupt  height. 
Once  a  town  of  great  commercial  importance,  its  trade  is  now  nearly  dead,  though 
the  people  still  proudly  treasure  the  relics  of  their  former  glory.  Newburyport  was 
famous  for  its  patriotic  spirit  during  the  Revolution.  The  first  tea  destroyed  was  in 
this  town,  having  been  taken  from  an  old  powder-house,  where  it  had  been  stored 
for  safe-keeping,  and  burned  by  the  citizens  in  the  open  square.  The  first  privateer 
was  fitted  out  in  this  place,  and  the  first  company  raised  which  joined  the  Conti- 
nental army. 

Though  the  business  importance  of  the  modern  Newburyport  has  gone,  it  is  a 
place  of  great  wealth  and  social  importance.  Many  rich  and  prominent  people  live  in 
the  town,  and  it  contains  a  literary  circle  which  includes  not  a  few  of  the  distin- 
guished people  in  American  letters,  who  have  their  summer  homes  here,  a  fact  which, 
in  connection  with  the  charm  of  the  place,  attracts  not  a  few  summer  visitors.  As 
we  pass  down  the  coast,  we  find  the  quaint  old  towns  of  Gloucester,  Salem,  and 
Marblehead,  all  of  the  deepest  interest  to  those  interested  in  our  colonial  history. 
Gloucester  is  the  great  fishing  town  of  Massachusetts,  and  its  fleets  ride  the  stormy 
tides  of  the  Atlantic  in  pursuit  of  the  cod  and  mackerel  to  an  extent  unequaled  by 

16 


242 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


Cedar-Tree  at  Gape  Ann. 


SUMMER  HAUNTS  BY  THE  SEA. 


243 


any  other  American  town.  The  harbor  is  very  picturesque,  and  the  town,  gradually 
rising  from  the  wharves,  offers  an  appearance  at  once  venerable  and  full  of  the  activity 
of  the  age.  The  scenes  in  the  vicinity  which  curiosity  and  love  of  the  beautiful  have 
sought  out  among  the  rocks  and  inlets  are  many  and  various.  One  of  these  is 
"Norman's  Woe,"  a  somber,  gloomy  mass  of  rocks,  lying  just  beyond  the  tree-lined 
shore,  where  many  a  vessel  has  got  its  death  during  the  terrible  northeast  storms 
which  sometimes  work  such  havoc  on  this  coast.  Of  one  of  these  occasions  Long- 
fellow has  written,  in  the  "Wreck  of  the  Hesperus": 

"  And  fast  through  the  midnight  dark  and  drear, 

Through  the  whistling  sleet  and  snow, 
Like  a  sheeted  ghost  the  vessel  swept 
On  the  reef  of  Norman's  Woe." 

A  little  northeast  of  Gloucester  the  promontory  of  Cape  Ann  juts  into  the  ocean. 
Its  general  appearance  is  rugged  and  rocky,  with  massive  granite  ledges,  many  of 
them  overgrown  witli  wild  forests.  From  one  of  its  high  hills,  called  Tompson's 


MarbUhead. 

Mountain,  one  has  a  noble  view  of  the  sea  and  coast,  of  Massachusetts  Bay  and  Bos- 
ton, the  shining  dome  of  the  State-House  looming  on  the  southern  horizon,  and 
Mount  Monadnock,  in  New  Hampshire,  lifting  its  heavy  crown  on  the  northwest. 
All  over  Cape  Ann  are  scattered  flowery  dells  and  winding  brooks,  orchards,  meadows, 
and  fields  of  golden  grain,  with  many  a  picturesque  tract  of  woodland.  The  outer- 
most shore  of  Cape  Arm  presents  magnificent  ocean  vistas,  and  some  curious  examples 
of  vegetation  struggling  for  a  place  on  the  storm-washed,  wind-swept  coast.  One  of 


244  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

these  is  a  famous  cedar-tree,  of  which  we  give  an  illustration.  Such  a  growth  is  a 
type  of  stern  struggle  and  deathless  tenacity.  Says  a  writer : 

"The  feeble  plant  will  for  long  years  scarcely  lift  its  head  above  the  surrounding 
level,  and  then  only  to  find  itself  shadowed  by  precipices  that  rise  into  the  very 
clouds.  Throwing  out  its  delicate  suckers,  it  clings  to  its  native  barrenness,  even 
more  closely  for  its  poverty.  The  searching  winds  of  a  thousand  storms  straighten 
its  tendrils ;  the  impacted  snows  of  each  returning  winter  scarcely  disappear  before 
the  summer's  heat,  ere  our  cedar  is  again  bound  in  an  icy  tomb.  But  silently, 
steadily,  perseveringly  it  grows.  In  time  it  reaches  its  head  into  the  noonday  sun- 
shine, and  its  sappy  trunk  is  chafed  and  gnarled  by  the  ever-recurring  hurricane. 
Sometimes,  when  the  great  pines  in  the  perturbed  depths  of  the  mountains  groan 
and  fall  under  the  hurricane,  our  cedar  clings  to  its  native  rock,  though  lashed  as  a 
whip-cord,  but  still  intact.  A  limb  occasionally  falls  from  the  effects  of  these  perse- 
cutions of  the  elements,  or  it  is  stripped  of  its  feather-like  foliage,  but  the  tree 
struggles  on,  growing  more  majestic,  more  grand,  and  more  as  if  possessed  of  a 
mental  history ;  for  there  is  something  suggestive  of  humanity  in  its  scarred  and 
wrinkled  front.  On  the  coast  of  Cape  Ann,  under  the  results  of  having  a  compara- 
tively flat  surface  for  display,  is  a  memorable  specimen  of  one  of  these  'storm-kings' 
of  the  vegetable  world.  It  has  drawn  its  substance  from  the  flinty  gravel  and  ada- 
mantine rock,  and  its  great,  gnarled  trunk  looks  as  if  it  were  made  of  ligatures  of 
brass.  The  most  superficial  observer  of  the  grand  works  of  Nature  insensibly  stops 
and  regards  this  tree,  while  the  true  artist  beholds  it  as  an  inspiring  fact.  It  is  a 
noble  and  natural  monument  of  the  weird  waste  it  adorns,  and  a  sentinel  for  obser- 
vation on  the  rock-bound  coast  of  New  England." 

Inside  the  large  peninsula,  at  the  end  of  which  is  Cape  Ann,  are  Salem  and  Marble- 
head  harbors,  separated  from  each  other  by  a  neck  of  land.  Seven  years  after  the 
landing  of  the  Pilgrims  the  district  between  the  great  river  called  Merrimac  and  the 
Charles  Kiver  was  set  off  as  a  separate  colony,  and  the  capital  was  fixed  at  Salem,  so 
named  from  the  "peace  which  they  had  and  hoped  in  it."  Hoary  antiquity  is 
stamped  on  every  part  of  the  old  place  beyond  all  other  New  England  towns.  The 
quiet  streets  are  lined  with  the  old-fashioned  mansions  of  the  colonial  and  marine 
aristocracy  ;  for  there  was  a  time  when  Salem  port  teemed  with  lordly  East  India- 
men,  and  its  warehouses  were  packed  with  the  richest  of  fabrics  and  spices  from  far- 
distant  lands.  Brimful  of  quaint  traditions,  almost  every  house  is  a  museum  of  curi- 
osities, or  else  historic  in  its  associations.  Here  is  preserved  the  original  charter 
granted  by  Charles  I  to  Massachusetts  Bay.  Salem  was  the  town  of  witches,  and  the 
tragedies  enacted  here  still  invest  the  town  with  a  somber  memory.  Witches'  Hill, 
where  superstition  sacrificed  its  victims,  stands  just  out  of  the  city. 

Marblehead,  which  is  close  at  hand,  is  but  little  less  interesting  than  Salem  in 
quaintness  and  old-time  charm.  Once  a  great  fishing  center,  and  one  of  the  most 
important  places  in  New  England,  it  has  relapsed  into  a  drowsy,  dreamy  town,  where 
one  would  feel  transported  back  a  hundred  years,  were  it  not  for  the  factories  which 


SUMMER  HAUNTS  BY  THE  SEA. 


245 


have  been  built  in  some  of  its  streets.  This  town  was 
one  of  the  first  settled  in  New  England,  and  there  are 
many  queer  old  houses  which  antedate  the  Revolution 
by  many  years.  The  sea  penetrates  the  peninsula  with 
a  deep,  narrow  harbor,  and  around  this,  on  steep  cliffs, 
are  built  the  houses,  extending  up  the  hills  in  terraces. 
This  town  is  the  scene  of  Whittier's  "Skipper  Ireson's  Ride,"  a  poem  which  has  made 
the  place  more  widely  known  to  the  people  of  to-day  than  any  other  cause.  Many  of 
the  early  settlers  were  from  the  Channel  Islands  of  Great  Britain,  and  the  peculiar 
dialect  spoken  by  the  Marbleheaders  separates  them  from  all  other  New  England 
people,  even  to  this  day.  All  these  places  along  the  Eastern  Shore  have  become 
favorite  resorts  for  summer  visitors,  for,  added  to  the  charms  of  a  picturesque  sea- 
coast,  and  of  the  ocean  itself,  are  the  quaint  interests  of  the  olden  time,  so  fascinat- 
ing to  many  minds. 

Swampscott  and  Nahant,  almost  within  cannon-shot  of  the  Boston  State-House,  are 


246 


OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 


Cottage  and  Shore  at  Nahaut. 


attractive  watering- 
places,  much  affect- 
ed by  the  people  of 
the  "Hub."  The 
former  place  has  its 
hotel,  a  beautiful 
stretch  of  beach, 
and  clusters  of  fine 

marine  villas,  on  which  art  and  wealth  have  been  lavishly  expended.  Nahaut  probably 
combines  more  varieties  of  marine  scenery  and  general  pleasure  advantages  than  any 
other  watering-place  on  the  Massachusetts  coast.  The  peninsula,  as  it  stretches  out 
from  the  mainland,  is  at  first  a  narrow  neck  almost  straight.  It  sweeps  in  a  direct 
line  for  some  distance,  and  then  curves  in  a  short  semicircle  round  the  rocky  cliffs 
beyond  which  is  Swampscott.  The  narrow  neck  broadens  irregularly  with  here  and 
there  masses  of  rugged  rock,  and  finally  becomes  a  rocky,  uneven  eminence,  shaped 
like  a  horseshoe.  Here  we  find  the  most  wonderful  rock-formations,  which  have  been 
hewed  and  shaped  by  the  forces  of  wind  and  tide,  and  the  prettiest  little  beaches 
lying  below  the  jagged  and  battered  cliffs.  A  writer,  describing  the  rock-hewed  beauty 


SUMMER   HAUNTS  BY  THE  SEA. 


247 


of  Nahant,  says  :  "  The  rocks  are  tori;  into  such  varieties  of  form,  and  the  beaches 
are  so  hard  and  smooth,  that  all  the  beauty  of  wave-motion  and  the  whole  gamut  of 
ocean- eloquence  are  here  offered  to  eye  and  ear.  All  the  loveliness  and  majesty  of  the 
ocean  are  displayed  around  the  jagged  and  savage-browed  cliffs  of  Nahant."  Few 
places  are  more  charmingly  adorned  by  art  and  taste.  Noble  sea-side  residences,  of 
brick,  stone,  and  wood,  dot  the  beach  and  crown  the  rocky  eminences,  some  shrouded 
in  ivy  and  other  creepers,  all  having  spacious  bay-windows,  and  broad,  sheltered  piaz- 
zas, giving  delightful  outlooks  on  the  ocean.  On  the  originally  bleak  peninsula  have 
been  made  to  grow  also  beautiful  lawns,  gardens,  and  flower-parterres. 

Among  the  natural  wonders  which  the  savage  lashing  of  the  waves  has  wrought  out 
of  the  Nahant  rocks  is  Pulpit  Rock.  This  is  a  huge,  ragged  mass,,  rising  some  thirty 
feet  above  the  water,  with  roughly  square  sides,  but  projecting  at  the  top  at  an  angle 
of  forty-five  degrees.  The  upper  part  looks  like  an  old-fashioned  pulpit,  and,  if  one 
cares  to  risk  a  plunge  into  the  boiling  waters,  he  may,  by  scrambling  up  the  slippery, 
dripping  sides,  find  a  famous  place  to  muse  on  the  sea — sitting  in  the  midst  of  its 


scr.  — <. 


Old  Fort  Dumpling 

wash  and  roar.  Another  notable  place  is  the  Swallows'  Cave,  a  gloomy  chamber 
scooped  out  by  the  beating  of  the  tides,  some  eight  feet  high  and  seventy  feet  long. 
The  name  is  derived  from  the  fact  that  colonies  of  swallows  used  to  build  their  nests 
in  its  somber  crevices,  and  flit  in  and  out,  an  innumerable  multitude.  But  the 
pleasure-seekers  who  explore  the  place  in  boats  have  driven  out  these  winged  denizens. 
This  cool  haunt  is  a  favorite  resort  on  very  hot  days.  Among  other  rock-wonders 
are  John's  Peril,  a  great,  yawning  fissure  in  the  rocks  ;  and  a  huge  fortress-shaped 
cliff  called  Castle  Rock,  which  bristles  with  parapets,  buttresses,  and  embrasures, 
a  natural  counterpart  of  the  castle-ruins  of  the  Old  World.  Then  there  is  a 
wonderful  Caldron  Cliff,  where  the  water  boils  and  seethes  furiously ;  a  Roaring  Cav- 
ern, which  sounds  a  deep  bass  monotone  ;  and  a  noble,  natural  arch,  known  as  Irene's 
Grotto.  The  people  of  Boston  have  not  far  to  go  to  find  delightful  spots  for  summer 
recreation,  for,  at  both  Swampscott  and  Nahant,  Nature  and  art  have  combined  to 
make  sea-side  paradises,  to  which  men  can  go  every  night  from  their  business  in  the 
hot  city. 

South  of  Boston  are  Cohasset,  Nantasket,  and  Scituate,  pleasant  resorts ;  but,  with- 


248 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


Scenes  at  Newport. 


SUMMER  HAUNTS  BY  THE  SEA.  249 

out  stopping  to  dwell  on  these,  we  will  come  at  once  to  the  imperial  watering-place  of 
America,  Newport.  It  will  be  new  to  most  of  our  readers  that,  one  hundred  years 
ago,  Newport,  with  the  exception  of  one  city,  was  the  most  important  port  in  the 
United  States.  There  were  at  this  time  not  less  than  five  hundred  vessels  that 
cleared  from  this  harbor,  carrying  twenty-two  hundred  seamen.  She  has  always  con- 
tinued to  wear  the  purple,  for,  as  her  commercial  importance  gradually  fell  away 
before  stronger  rivals,  her  social  importance  increased.  Newport  became  the  most 
unique  and  delightful  of  American  watering-places,  even  as  she  had  formerly  led 
New  York  and  Boston  in  the  van  of  trade.  From  a  far-back  period,  the  center  of  a 
proud  colonial  aristocracy,  the  gay  French  officers  who  came  over  with  Eochambeau 
and  D'Estaing  found  here  the  most  fascinating  society  they  encountered  in  America, 
and  the  fond  regrets  with  which  they  left  this  charming  spot  are  perpetuated  in  New- 
port traditions,  as  well  as  in  very  interesting  French  memoirs. 

In  the  old  part  of  the  town  are  still  to  be  seen  many  evidences  of  the  former  im- 
portance of  the  place.  Merchants  built  splendid  mansions  by  the  water-side,  with 
wainscoted  walls,  mahogany  stairways,  and  tiled  fire-places.  Gentlemen  of  wealth 
and  culture  had  their  country-seats  in  the  vicinity  of  the  town,  surrounded  by  flower- 
gardens,  orchards,  fish-ponds,  charming  parks,  and  other  features  of  rural  luxury. 
The  salubrity  of  the  climate,  the  beauty  of  the  scenery,  and  the  prosperity  of  the 
place,  attracted  the  finest  elements  which  make  social  life  delightful. 

Fifty  years  ago  Newport  was  a  quiet,  torpid  place,  for  then  its  old  prosperity  had 
departed,  and  the  new  tide  had  not  set  in.  Its  trade  was  extinct,  the  streets  were 
deserted,  the  wharves  had  rotted  and  moldered  away,  its  land  was  of  no  value,  and  its 
population  scarce.  Strangers  rarely  found  their  way  to  the  old  port,  and  the  weather-- 
worn,  crumbling  relics  of  a  more  splendid  prime  gave  but  little  promise  of  what  was 
to  come.  What  Newport  now  is,  the  world  knows.  A  union  of  remarkable  attractions, 
equaled  by  no  other  watering-place  on  the  continent,  has  once  again  drawn  a  great 
prosperity  to  it,  based  not  on  commercial  traffic,  but  the  needs  of  recreation  and 
health.  The  most  distinguished  people  of  all  professions  and  from  every  part  of  the 
country  ;  the  most  brilliant  and  beautiful  women  ;  the  representative  foreigners  who 
come  to  America  for  business  or  pleasure — all  gather  here  every  summer,  and  give 
Newport  a  social  aspect  of  the  highest  charm.  While  the  spacious  hotels  are  crowded 
with  visitors,  it  is  in  the  cottage-life  of  Newport  that  its  distinctive  character  exists. 
Houses  of  every  description  and  in  every  style  of  architecture,  from  the  modest  and 
pretty  cottage  to  palaces  that  cost  many  hundred  thousands  of  dollars,  line  the 
spacious  avenues,  or  nestle  amid  the  foliage  of  the  more  secluded  streets.  The  finest 
steamboats  in  the  world  land  their  passengers  here,  while  beautiful  yachts  and  other 
craft  skim  over  the  waters  with  their  snowy  sails.  Every  afternoon  Bellevue  and 
other  principal  avenues  are  a  perfect  whirl  of  superb  equipages  ;  and  night  and  morn- 
ing fine  bands  of  music  fill  the  air  with  melody.  For  those  who  are  fashionably 
inclined,  balls,  receptions,  garden-parties,  dinner-parties,  etc.,  etc.,  given  on  the  most 
lavish  and  tasteful  scale,  fill  the  passing  days  with  excitement ;  while,  for  quieter 


250 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


souls,  unsurpassed   scenery  and  a  fine  climate  open   the  book  of  Nature  at  its  pleas- 
antest  pages. 

It  need  hardly  be  said  that  Newport  is  in  Rhode  Island,  situated  in  the  southerly 
part  of  an  island  in  Narragansett  Bay.  Frowning  over  the  harbor  with  its  massive 
and  threatening  walls,  stands  Fort  Adams,  one  of  the  great  fortresses  of  the  United 
States,  now  the  principal  torpedo-station  of  the  country.  This  is  a  favorite  resort  of 
Newporters,  and  a  throng  of  fine  equipages  dashes  into  the  parade-ground  every  after- 
noon to  witness  the  ceremony  of  dress-parade.  Opposite  Fort  Adams,  on  the  other 


The  Drift. 


side  of  the  harbor,  is  a  small,  dismantled,  but  picturesque  fort,  called  Dumpling, 
which  played  some  part  in  Revolutionary  scenes,  but  which  now  is  only  an  agreeable 
resort  for  pleasure-parties  and  picnics. 

Brenton's  Cove,  one  of  the  striking  spots  of  the  Newport  shore,  is  approached  by 
a  causeway  leading  to  Fort  Adams,  and  gives  a  splendid  view  of  Newport.  The  tall 
and  delicate  towers  of  the  churches  cut  sharp  against  the  blue  sky  ;  the  public  build- 
ings stand  out  in  noble  relief ;  and  the  line  of  houses,  as  they  rise  one  above  another 
on  the  hill-side,  is  broken  by  open  grounds  and  clusters  of  shade-trees.  Each  spot  on 


SUMMER  HAUNTS  BY  THE  SEA. 


251 


which  the  eye  may  chance  to  rest  recalls  some  event  that  happened  there  in  early 
times.  Not  far  away  are  the  remains  of  the  house  built  by  Governor  William  Bren- 
ton,  the  grounds  of  which  were  in  his  day  adorned  with  rare  and  costly  plants, 
gravel-walks,  groves,  and  bowers,  and  all  that  wealth  and  a  refined  taste  could  fur- 


The  Walk  on  the  Cliff. 

nish.  Brenton's  Cove  and  reef,  in  good  weather,  are  as  placid  and  serene  as  possible ; 
but,  when  the  heavy  breakers  dash  in  on  this  fatal  spot,  it  is  a  place  of  terror.  Here 
many  a  good  ship  has  been  wrecked,  and  many  a  dead  man  washed  ashore  by  the 
cruel  waves.  The  moldering  grave-stones  all  along  the  shore  are  humble  records  of 


252  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

the  dire  tragedies,  the  woful  death-struggles  which  have  been  transacted  within  a 
stone's-throw  of  the  smiling  and  beautiful  shore,  where  gay  crowds  drive  by  every 
pleasant  summer  afternoon. 

Following  along  the  southern  shore,  we  come  to  what  is  called  the  Spouting  Cave, 
where,  after  a  southeasterly  storm,  there  is  a  good  exhibition  of  marine  water-works. 
The  construction  of  the  cavern  beneath  the  rocks  is  such  that,  when  it  is  nearly 
filled  up,  and  a  heavy  wave  comes  rolling  in,  the  imprisoned  waters  can  find  no  relief 
except  by  pouring  through  a  sort  of  funnel  into  the  air.  It  is  not  easy  to  tell  when 
the  treacherous  horn  intends  to  blow,  and  anxious  visitors  are  often  wet  to  the  skin 
by  a  swift  gush  of  the  water  forty  or  fifty  feet  in  the  air.  But  the  ocean-view  here 
is  so  grand  after  a  storm,  that  people  are  tempted  to  linger  in  spite  of  the  spouting- 
horn  always  lying  in  ambush  for  a  victim. 

Beyond  the  beach,  where  hundreds  of  bathers  may  be  seen  enjoying  the  surf  on  a 
summer's  day,  is  the  rocky  precipice  cleft  through  and  through  by  a  great  fissure, 
known  as  Purgatory,  and  just  beyond  this  a  pleasant  spot  shaded  by  trees,  and  com- 
manding a  beautiful  view,  called  Paradise.  So  the  stranger  is  informed  that,  to  reach 
Paradise,  he  must  pass  Purgatory.  The  opening  extends  one  hundred  and  sixty  feet, 
and  is  fifty  feet  deep,  with  a  varying  width  of  from  eight  to  fourteen  feet  at  the  top. 
Among  the  legends  connected  with  this  place  is  that  of  an  Indian  woman  who,  in 
the  early  days  of  the  white  settlements,  killed  a  colonist  for  some  affront.  Walking 
one  day  near  Purgatory  she  was  accosted  by  a  person  appearing  to  be  an  Englishman, 
who  proposed  to  fight  with  her.  The  plucky  and  athletic  squaw  was  not  unwilling, 
and  in  the  struggle  she  was  gradually  pulled  to  the  verge  of  the  cliff,  when  her 
opponent  seized  her  in  his  arms  and  plunged  into  the  abyss  below.  The  cloven-foot 
appeared  at  this  moment,  and  the  stranger  revealed  himself  in  his  true  person  as 
Satan.  The  prints  of  the  demon's  feet  and  the  marks  of  blood  are  still  visible  on  the 
stones  (so  it  is  asserted).  Another  more  credible  legend  is  that  of  a  beautiful  but  vain 
young  heiress,  who  was  walking  on  these  rocks  with  her  lover,  who  was  pleading  his 
suit  with  desperate  earnestness.  The  giddy  fair  one,  wishing  to  test  the  extent  of 
his  passion,  said,  "I  will  marry  you,  if  you  will  prove  to  me  the  extremity  of  your 
devotion,  and  your  readiness  to  obey  all  my  wishes,  by  leaping  over  this  chasm." 
Unhesitatingly  he  made  the  dangerous  leap,  and  then,  politely  raising  his  hat,  com- 
plimented her  on  her  beauty,  told  her  what  he  thought  of  her  character,  and  left  her 
for  ever.  After  this  the  girl,  who  really  loved  the  man  whose  esteem  she  had  for- 
feited, remained  in  mourning  for  him  all  her  days.  So  goes  the  tale. 

Berkeley's  Seat,  within  easy  walking  distance  of  the  house  once  occupied  by  one 
of  the  most  famous  of  the  English  philosophers,  is  also  a  favorite  resort  for  Newport 
visitors.  The  sheltered  opening  in  Paradise  Rocks,  now  honored  by  Bishop  Berkeley's 
name,  was  fitted  up  with  chairs  and  a  table,  and  was  said  to  have  been  the  place  where 
he  wrote  one  of  his  celebrated  books.  Here,  with  the  mighty  roll  of  the  waves  on 
the  beach  and  the  glorious  prospect  before  him,  he  might  well  have  been  inspired  to 
his  greatest  thoughts.  Those  who  now  occupy  Berkeley's  Seat  during  the  long,  deli- 


SUMMER  HAUNTS  BY  THE  SEA. 


253 


cious  summer  days,  probably  discuss  more  romantic  and  sentimental  themes  than  the 
non-existence  of  matter. 

Such  are  a  few  of  the  noted  spots  on  the  coast  in  and  near  Newport ;  but,  every- 
where one's  steps  go,  the  eye  is  delighted  by  picturesque  groves  and  rocks  and  sandy 
beaches,  superb  drives,  and  walks  of  charm  almost  unequaled.  Probably  in  the  course 
of  a  few  years  every  available  spot  on  the  circuitous  sea-line  near  Newport  will  be  the 
site  of  a  splendid  cottage,  adorned  with  every  resource  of  art  and  taste  which  wealth 
can  command. 

No  one  who  has  been  in  Newport  has  ever  failed  to  be  deeply  interested  in  the 
mysterious  ruin  known  as  the  Old  Stone  Mill.  This  interesting  structure  dates  back 


A  Newport  Cottage. 

to  the  prehistoric  times  of  the  colony.  There  is  no  record  of  its  having  been  built 
by  any  one,  and  its  resemblance  to  some  of  the  ancient  stone  buildings  existing  in 
Norway  and  Denmark  has  given  rise  to  the  tradition  that  it  is  a  relic  of  those  ancient 
Norse  sea-rovers  who  are  known  to  have  visited  this  coast  in  early  times,  long  before 
Columbus  discovered  the  New  World.  One  theory  is,  that  the  old  mill  was  originally 
a  portion  of  a  temple  ;  another,  that  it  was  built  as  a  tower  of  defense,  and  that, 
after  the  walls  had  crumbled  until  they  were  reduced  to  their  present  height,  a 
wooden  mill  was  erected  on  the  summit.  It  was  of  this  tower  that  the  poet  Long- 
fellow wrote  when  he  sang  of  "the  Viking  old,"  who  found  his  way  from  the  "wild 


254 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


Baltic  strand "  to  our  strange 
shores,  and  built  here  the  "  lofty 
tower "  by  the  sea  : 

"Thus  weeks  we  westward  bore, 
And,  when  the  storm  was  o'er, 
Cloud-like  we  saw  the  shore 

Stretching  to  leeward; 
There  for  my  lady's  bower 
Built  I  the  lofty  tower, 
Which,  to  this  very  hour, 

Stands  looking  seaward." 

Probably  this  ancient  stone 
mill  was,  in  reality,  built  by 
the  earliest  Puritan  colonists  for 
the  purpose  of  grinding  their 
corn,  a  use  to  which  it  has 
been  put  in  more  recent  times. 
It  was  likewise  devoted  to  the 
storing  of  gunpowder  in  Revo- 
lutionary times,  and  was  doubt- 
less made  useful  in  a  variety  of 
ways.  It  is  unpleasant  to  give 
up  the  more  romantic  explana- 
tion of  a  Norse  origin.  The 
residents  of  Newport  cling  fond- 
ly to  the  notion  which  links  the 
place  to  the  exploits  of  the  Scan- 
dinavian sea-rovers  of  old,  and 
it  is  unfortunate  that  the  more 
prosaic  is  by  far  the  more  prob- 
able theory. 

The  first  authentic  notice  of 
the  edifice  is  found  in  the  will 
of  a  Mr.  Benedict  Arnold,  dated 
1677,  in  which  he  bequeaths 
his  stone-built  windmill  to  his 
heirs.  It  is  singular  that  such  a 
strongly-built  mill  should  have 
been  put  up,  but  it  is  more 
than  probable  that  it  was  de- 
signed also  as  a  fort  in  time 


SUMMER  HAUNTS  BY  THE  SEA.  255 

of  danger,  and  its  appearance  would  be  likely  to  impress  the  Indians  as  such  in  any 
event.  .The  various  traditions  give  this  old  relic  a  peculiar  interest,  and  it  is  likely  to 
endure  for  many  generations,  unless  destroyed  by  lightning  or  an  earthquake.  Close 
by  the  old  stone  mill,  on  the  other  side  of  the  square,  stands  the  statue  of  Commo- 
dore Perry,  erected  by  his  son-in-law,  Mr.  Belmont,  of  New  York.  The  material  is 
bronze,  and,  as  a  work  of  art,  it  stands  high  among  similar  memorial  statues  in  our 
country. 

The  streets  of  the  old  town  of  Newport  continue  largely  as  they  always  were, 
narrow,  and  lined  with  quaint  old  wooden  structures,  and  all  the  old  historic  features 
will  probably  remain  for  a  good  while  to  come.  So,  also,  the  natural  features  of  the 
region  will  remain  unaltered.  But,  what  marvelous  changes  the  hand  of  wealth  and 
taste  has  already  made,  and  what  equally  striking  changes  will  be  made  in  the  future, 
probably  in  the  direction  of  improvement  and  ornamentation !  The  same  rocks  frown 
on  the  sea ;  the  same  purple  haze  rests  on  the  harbor  at  sunset ;  the  same  ocean-mist 
tempers  the  noontide  brightness  ;  and  the  same  turbulent  breakers  or  gentle  ripples 
roll  upon  the  beach.  But  the  hand  of  man  has,  within  -the  last  twenty  years,  trans- 
formed miles  on  miles  of  barren  pasture  into  lawns,  and  parterres,  and  verdant  groves, 
and  millions  of  dollars  have  been  expended  in  building  splendid  villas  and  stately 
palaces.  The  tide  of  wealthy  population  has  poured  in  like  a  flood.  Probably,  in 
the  not  distant  future,  the  summer  population  will  spread  over  the  whole  southern 
portion  of  the  island,  and  by-and-by  the  entire  area  will  become  a  perfect  garden  of 
beauty.  Newport,  now  the  most  delightful  and  aristocratic  of  our  sea-side  summer 
haunts,  can  hardly  fail  to  go  on  growing  in  wealth  and  importance,  for  climate, 
natural  beauty,  and  the  bias  of  fashion,  all  combine  to  make  it  what  it  is,  and  give 
it  promise  of  something  even  better. 

A  younger  but  growing  rival  of  Newport  is  found  at  Narragansett  Pier,  which  is 
situated  on  the  open  ocean  just  around  the  western  border  of  Narragansett  Bay.  Here 
the  broad  Atlantic  rolls  in  full  force,  and  there  is  no  land  that  can  be  approached  in 
an  easterly  direction  till  we  reach  the  coast  of  Spain.  The  structure  from  which  the 
region  takes  its  name,  and  the  ruins  of  which  may  still  be  seen,  was  erected  a  few 
years  ago,  at  considerable  cost,  of  heavy  blocks  of  granite  clamped  together  with  iron 
bolts.  The  curve  of  the  wall  made  a  small  harbor,  within  which  vessels  could  lie 
safely  and  discharge  their  cargoes.  A  few  great  storms  demolished  this  work  of  man, 
and  now  the  huge  stones  are  a  pile  of  ruins. 

A  quarter  of  &  century  since  Narragansett  Pier  was  a  waste  dotted  with  a  few 
fishermen's  cottages.  Now  a  thousand  bathers  may  be  seen  on  a  warm  summer  day 
crowding  the  beach  once  so  solitary,  and  eighteen  hotels  and  boarding-houses,  some 
of  them  vast  and  costly  structures,  have  been  erected  on  the  shore.  People  from  all 
parts  of  the  country  flock  hitherward  to  breathe  the  cool  ocean  air,  to  plunge  in  the 
invigorating  brine,  and  watch  the  grand  breakers  that  dash  against  the  rocks.  Art- 
ists say  there  are  no  rocks  on  our  coast  so  rich  and  varied  in  their  coloring  until  you 
reach  the  Florida  reefs. 


256  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

If  Newport  is  the  most  aristocratic  of  ocean  resorts,  we  shall  find  Coney  Island  no 
less  noticeable  and  unique  as  the  most  democratic  of  watering-places.  A  few  years 
ago  this  sea-side  outlet  of  New  York  City  was  a  barren  waste  of  sand,  with  a  few  low 
taverns,  given  up  to  the  orgies  of  disreputable  people.  It  is  now  crowded  with  magnifi- 
cent hotels  and  all  those  attractions  which  make  the  sea-side  delightful  for  a  summer 
day's  visit.  Of  its  kind  there  is  no  watering-place  in  the  world  which  has  so  many 
individual  fascinations  as  the  Coney  Island  of  to-day. 

Coney  Island  is  the  extreme  western  end  of  a  great  outlying  bar  of  sand,  broken 
by  inlets,  extending  along  the  coast  for  miles,  other  sections  being  known  as  Rock- 
away,  Long,  Jones,  Oak  Island,  and  Great  South  Beaches.  On  the  east,  Coney  Island 
runs  out  to  a  sharp  point,  and  it  has  the  broad  Atlantic  for  its  southern  boundary. 
From  the  Battery,  in  New  York  City,  to  the  wharf  at  the  western  end  of  the  island, 
is  eight  and  a  half  miles  in  a  bee-line.  Previous  to  1875  this  fine  stretch  of  sea- 
beach,  its  splendid  surf-bathing,  and  its  convenient  location  with  reference  to  access 
from  New  York  and  Brooklyn,  presented  no  attractions  except  to  the  lowest  classes. 
There  was  a  small  hotel  at  -the  western  end  of  the  island,  to  which  two  steamboats 
made  daily  trips,  and  another  at  the  end  of  the  Coney  Island  road,  to  which  driving- 
parties  from  Brooklyn  sometimes  came.  The  wonderful  facilities  of  the  beach  for 
sea.-bathing  and  the  enjoyment  of  the  ocean-breezes  were  absolutely  surrendered  to 
the  rough  and  dissolute,  who  turned  the  beautiful  beach  into  a  pandemonium. 

In  1874  a  steam-road  from  Twentieth  Street,  Brooklyn,  was  built  by  an  enterpris- 
ing capitalist  to  what  is  now  known  as  West  Brighton  Beach,  and  a  large  pavilion 
and  restaurant  were  erected  at  its  terminus.  The  result  proved  that  the  enterprise 
necessary  to  afford  a  convenient  means  of  reaching  the  island  was  all  that  was  neces- 
sary to  secure  for  the  place  the  position  to  which  its  location  and  natural  advantages 
entitled  it,  as  the  most  popular  watering-place  in  this  country.  At  the  present  time, 
eight  steam-railways,  one  line  of  street-cars,  and  nine  lines  of  steamboats,  capable  of 
transporting  at  least  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  persons  to  and  from  the  beach 
daily,  are  in  operation.  The  beach  itself  is  covered  with  light  and  airy  buildings  of 
all  sizes  and  for  every  conceivable  purpose,  and  during  the  season  the  sands  are  black 
with  people  daily.  Three  of  the  hotels  are  among  the  finest  of  their  kind  in  the 
world,  and  a  number  of  others  are  fully  equal  to  the  best  hotels  at  other  watering- 
places.  The  island  is  now  divided  into  four  parts,  known  as  the  West  End,  or  Nor- 
ton's Point,  West  Brighton,  Brighton  Beach,  and  Manhattan  Beach.  Beginning  at 
the  West  End,  or  Norton's,  the  island  has  been  but  little  improved.  The  beach  is 
covered  with  the  refuse  thrown  up  by  the  tides,  and  the  surface  of  the  island  is 
covered  with  irregular  hummocks  of  fine  white  sand,  and  an  occasional  growth  of 
beach-grass  and  laurel.  The  hotel  here  is  an  old,  low,  wooden  building,  back  from 
the  shore,  and  a  wooden  path  leads  down  to  a  large  pavilion,  where  accommodations 
are  provided  for  parties  with  lunch-baskets.  Between  this  spot  and  West  Brighton 
Beach  there  are  fourteen  small  hotels  and  pavilions.  West  Brighton  Beach  is  suggestive 
of  a  huge  fair-ground.  There  is  a  broad  plaza  in  the  center,  with  green  grass  and 


SUMMER  HAUNTS  BY  THE  SEA. 


257 


258 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


Scenes  tit  Coney  Jsland. 


• 

SUMMER  HAUNTS  BY  THE  SEA.  259 

flowers,  traversed  with  wide  modern  pavements ;  and  there  are  several  other  very 
decent  hotels  clustered  about.  Every  afternoon  and  evening  a  band  plays  at  the 
pavilion  near  by,  and  the  scene  at  night  is  illuminated  by  the  brilliant  rays  of  the 
electric  light.  A  camera-obscura  gives  excellent  views  of  the  beach,  which  are  well 
worth  seeing ;  and  an  observatory,  three  hundred  feet  high,  the  top  of  which  is 
reached  by  large  elevators,  affords  a  splendid  outlook  over  the  island,  the  bay,  and 
the  adjacent  cities. 

One  of  the  most  striking  features  of  this  part  of  the  island  is  the  pier,  one  thou- 
sand feet  long,  built  of  tubular  iron  piles,  which  runs  out  a  thousand  feet  into  the 
sea.  On  it  are  three  two-story  buildings  containing  saloons,  restaurants,  and  prome- 
nades, twelve  hundred  bath-rooms,  and  stairways  leading  down  into  the  water  from 
the  pier.  Steamboats  from  New  York  land  at  this  pier  nearly  every  hour  all  day. 

A  wide  drive  and  promenade  about  half  a  mile  long  lead  to  Brighton  Beach  on 
the  east.  Park  wagons  are  continually  passing  to  and  fro  to  convey  those  too  tired 
or  too  lazy  to  walk.  From  .a  point  about  half-way  between  the  two  latter-named 
beaches,  an  elevated  railway  will  run  to  Locust  Grove,  connecting  there  with  steam- 
boats from  New  York.  Brighton  Beach  is  one  of  the  pleasantest  parts  of  the  island, 
and  is  a  favorite  resort  of  Brooklyn  people. 

From  this  part  of  the  island  the  grounds  of  Manhattan  Beach  extend  two  and  a 
half  miles  eastward.  The  hotels  at  both  Brighton  and  Manhattan  Beaches  are  among 
the  largest  of  their  kind  in  the  world,  and  very  handsomely  furnished.  These  great 
summer  caravansaries  are  able  to  feed  from  twenty  to  thirty  thousand  people  a  day 
each,  and  it  is  a  curious  sight  to  watch  the  crowds  of  hungry  visitors  thronging  the 
dining-rooms  and  piazzas.  In  front  of  the  hotels  large  and  splendid  orchestras  play 
during  the  afternoon  and  evening,  and  the  grounds  are  prettily  laid  out  with  walks, 
grass,  and  flowers.  An  immense  gathering  may  always  be  seen  in  front  of  the  hotels 
listening  to  the  music,  which  is  of  the  finest,  chatting,  laughing,  flirting,  and  other- 
wise enjoying  a  delightful  open-air  concert,  with  its  joyous  surroundings.  Many  of 
the  visitors  bring  their  own  luncheon,  or  buy  it  in  one  of  the  numerous  restaurants, 
and  enjoy  it  picnic  fashion  on  the  sands. 

The  bathing  accommodations  at  Coney  Island  are  of  the  most  extensive  sort. 
Those  at  Manhattan  Beach,  for  example,  have  twenty-seven  hundred  separate  rooms, 
and  are  in  all  respects  convenient  and  well  arranged.  The  beach  in  front  is  fenced 
in  and  rigidly  preserved  for  bathers.  Large  floats  beyond  the  breakers  afford  resting 
and  diving  places  for  expert  swimmers,  and  life-boats  patrol  the  beach  at  the  same 
point.  An  amphitheatre  seating  two  thousand  people  overlooks  the  bathing-grounds. 

Still  farther  eastward  is  another  magnificent  hotel,  the  Oriental,  built  by  the  Man- 
hattan Beach  Company  for  the  use  of  permanent  guests  and  families  desirous  of 
escaping  the  noise,  confusion,  and  variety  of  the  throngs  which  make  the  most  char- 
acteristic feature  of  the  place. 

From  this  sketch  it  may  be  fancied  that  Coney  Island  is  a  most  unique  and  pict- 
uresque place.  Within  an  hour's  journey  of  New  York,  it  furnishes  thousands  of 


260 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


people,  who  can  not  leave  the  city  during  the  summer  months,  except  for  a  very 
brief  period,  a  chance  for  sea-side  diversion,  bathing,  and  fresh  air,  while  every  resource 
known,  which  can  gratify  the  most  epicurean  tastes,  oilers  its  seductions  for  the  more 
fastidious  public.  Indeed,  many  families  formerly  in  the  habit  of  going  to  more 
distant  points  have  of  late  adopted  Coney  Island  as  their  summer  home,  enabling  the 
men  to  go  in  and  out  to  their  business.  This,  however,  is  only  an  incidental  feature 
of  Coney  Island  life.  It  is  from  the  great  throng  of  daily  pleasure-seekers,  made  up 
of  all  classes,  that  the  place  gains  its  peculiar  picturesqueness  and  animation.  The 
whole  length  of  the  beach,  on  a  bright  summer's  day,  is  a  never-ending  procession  of 
people,  from  men  and  women  of  'the  highest  social  rank  and  position  to  humble 
mechanics  and  laborers,  out  for  a  day's  airing  with  their  families.  The  contrasts  of 
life  and  character  resulting  from  this  heterogeneous  assembly  give  Coney  Island  its 
greatest  charm,  aside  from  the  sea,  air,  and  sunlight. 

Other  well-known  watering-places  by  the  ocean  are,  Long  Branch,  Atlantic  City, 
and  Cape  May,  all  popular  resorts  and  possessed  of  many  attractions,  but  having  no 
special  value  or  significance  as  derived  from  scenery,  tradition,  or  peculiar  social  con- 
ditions, such  as  make  places  like  Mount  Desert,  Isles  of  Shoals,  Nahant,  Newport,  and 
even  Coney  Island,  peculiarly  noticeable. 


The  Drive  at  Long  Branch. 


see 
of 


OUR  INLAND  PLEASURE- 
PLACES. 

Among  the  Catskills — Saratoga  and  its  life — Lake 
George  and  Lake  Champlain — Lake  Memphrema- 
gog— The   White   Mountains— Trenton   Falls — The 
lakes  of  Central  New  York — Watkins  Glen — Niag- 
ara Falls— The  beauties  of  the  Thousand  Islands— The  Sague- 
nay  River — Minor  watering-places  of  the  interior — Put-in-Bay 
— Lake  Erie. 

IT  is  not  necessary  to  go  more  than  half  a 
day's  journey  from  the  city  of  New  York  to  find  a 
delightful  mountain-region  full  of  varied  attractions 
and  picturesque  aspects.  As  you  sail  up  the  Hudson, 
about  one  hundred  and  forty  miles  from  the  sea,  you 

the    thick  cluster   of  mountains    to  which    the   Dutch    settlers    gave   the   name 
the   Catskills,  only  about  eight   miles  away  from  the    bank   of   the  river.      They 


Catskill  Mountain- House. 


262  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

make  a  short,  broken  spur,  thrown  out  eastwardly  from  that  great  mountain-chain 
which,  under  various  names,  stretches  from  Nova  Scotia  to  Georgia  and  Tennessee, 
all  being  known  under  the  general  title  of  the  Appalachian.  The  Catskills  are  like 
an  advanced  bastion  of  this  great  rock}'  wall,  that  stretches  for  nearly  two  thousand 
miles.  On  the  western  side  they  slope  gradually  down  toward  the  central  part  of  the 
State  of  New  York,  breaking  up  into  innumerable  spurs  and  ridges.  On  the  eastern 
side  they  rise  abruptly  to  a  height  of  more  than  four  thousand  feet,  looking  from 
the  river  like  a  huge  fist,  the  mountains  representing  the  knuckles,  and  the  glens 
and  cloves  the  spaces  between  them.  Isolated  from  other  mountains,  they  overlook  a 
great  range  of  country,  and  the  sweep  of  vision  which  the  traveler  gets  is  such  as  is 
rarely  attained  from  higher  elevations.  The  Catskills  are  famous,  not  only  for  this 
bird's-eye  view,  but  contain  some  of  the  most  charming  bits  of  mountain-scenery  in 
the  world.  These  nocks  of  rock  and  forest  beauty  have  been  immortalized  by  Cooper, 
Irving,  and  Bryant,  and  have  inspired  our  landscape  artists  to  do  much  of  their  finest 
work. 

As  we  approach  the  little  village  of  Catskill,  on  the  western  bank  of  the  river, 
we  see  a  series  of  tree-covered  ridges,  rolling  away,  one  after  another,  eight  or 
ten  miles,  and,  beyond  the  farthest,  lifting  their  peaks  up  into  the  clouds,  are  the 
Catskills.  Yonder,  to  the  right,  we  see  Black  Head ;  then,  in  succession,  North 
Mountain,  South  Mountain,  and  Round  Top,  with  High  Peak  towering  over  all.  Be- 
tween the  last  and  South  Mountain  we  observe  a  sharp  notch  or  depression  ;  this  is 
the  celebrated  Clove,  through  which  the  Cauterskill  comes  tumbling  and  roaring 
downward.  High  on  the  face  of  South  Mountain,  or  rather  between  it  and  its 
northern  neighbor,  the  eye,  by  looking  very  keenly,  sees  a  small  speck,  hanging 
like  a  swallow's  nest  to  a  wall.  If  we  look  through  a  pair  of  good  glasses,  you 
will  see  that  it  is  a  spacious  hotel,  and  that  on  its  piazzas  are  gathered  perhaps 
several  hundred  human  beings,  looking  out  over  the  magnificent  landscape,  which 
spreads  like  a  map  below  them,  and  watching  the  thread  of  silver  that  gleams  occa- 
sionally in  the  far  distance,  marking  the  course  of  the  Hudson. 

On  leaving  the  village  of  Catskill,  we  are  borne  away  in  lumbering  old  stages, 
and  speedily  cross  the  bridge  which  spans  the  mouth  of  the  Cauterskill.  We  are  now 
fairly  on  the  road  to  the  mountains.  For  a  while  we  pass  by  meadows,  where  the 
cows  graze  peacefully,  or  hay-fields  which  send  up  a  delicious  fresh  scent.  The  valley 
rolls  gradually  up  to  the  base  of  the  mountains,  which  rise  in  the  distance  like  a  wall. 
Soon  the  scarred  head  of  the  North  Mountain  comes  into  view,  and  the  Mountain- 
House  is  clearly  defined  against  a  background  of  pines. 

Mountain-climbing  is  much  the  same  everywhere,  but  in  the  Catskills  it  has 
peculiar  charms.  Of  course,  the  road  is  often  rough  and  fatiguing,  the  tax  on  the 
muscles  severe,  but  there  are  frequent  convenient  resting-places  and  views  of  en- 
trancing loveliness,  as  well  as  the  most  picturesque  nooks.  The  route  taken  by  the 
stages  to  the  Mountain-House  winds  around  and  upward  over  a  road  full  of  beauty. 
_Here  a  gorge,  there  a  water-fall,  arched  colonnades  of  forest,  steep  escarpments  of  cliff, 


OUR  INLAND  PLEASURE-PLACES. 


263 


wide  vistas  of  valley  and  lowland  stretching  far  away,  succeed  one  another  rapidly. 
Now  you  pass  along  the  edge  of  a  dizzy  precipice,  now  you  plunge  into  deep,  umbra- 
geous woods,  which  look  as  if  they  might  have  been  undisturbed  from  the  very 
creation.  Winding  around  the  side  of  North  Mountain  you  suddenly  come  to  a  place 
where  you  see  the  Mountain-House  apparently  not  more  than  half  a  mile  away. 
Perched  on  a  shelf  of  rock,  which  juts  out  far  over  the  side  of  the  mountain,  glis- 
tening white  against  the  pine-clad  shoulders  of  the  mountain,  the  pile  of  buildings 


View  of  the  Catskills. 

makes  a  singular  feature  of  the  view.  On  the  left  of  the  picture  we  see  the  opening 
of  the  Cauterskill  Clove,  between  the  sloping  side  of  the  South  Mountain  and  that 
of  the  more  distant  high  peak,  and,  above  the  clouds,  floating  like  fringes  of  gauze 
about  the  mountain-sides,  we  stand  and  look  on  the  valley  of  the  Hudson,  fading 
toward  the  distant  south. 

A  steady  climb  of  three  miles  brings  us  to  the  plateau  on  which  the  hotel  stands, 
built  on  a  flat  rock  on  the  very  edge  of  the  precipice.  The  cliff  here  falls  perpen- 
dicularly about  eighteen  hundred  feet.  The  view  from  the  piazza  is  wonderful. 
Eidges  of  hills  which  rise  nearly  a  thousand  feet  in  height  are  dwarfed  into  nothing- 
ness, and  the  country  through  which  we  have  ridden  up  from  the  river  looks  almost 
as  flat  as  a  table.  Through  the  course  of  the  distant  plain  the  silvery  Hudson  winds 
from  the  hills  below  Albany,  on  the  north,  to  where  the  glittering  ribbon  disappears 
on  the  south,  behind  the  highlands  at  West  Point. 

Directly  beneath  us  we  see  the  lovely  valley,  dotted  with  farms  and  clumps  of 
woodland,  smiling  in  the  sunlight,  with  waves  of  shadow  chasing  one  another  across  the 
green.  Beyond,  an  amphitheatre  of  mountains  rises  on  the  eastern  horizon,  stretching 
in  broken  lines  from  the  southern  boundaries  of  Vermont  to  Northern  Connecticut, 
rolling  off  peak  after  peak,  wave  after  wave,  of  deepening  blue,  till  they  are  lost  in 
the  purple  of  the  Berkshire  Hills. 


264 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


Kcenes  at  Saratoga. 


OUR  INLAND   PLEASURE-PLACES.  265 

Such  is  the  view  which  delights  the  eye  from  one  of  the  higher  points  of  the 
Catskills,  and  similar  prospects  may  be  had  from  many  a  point.  Hotels  and  boarding- 
houses,  of  various  degrees  of  excellence,  are  scattered  throughout  the  mountains,  and 
in  the  summer  season  are  crowded  with  visitors,  come  to  enjoy  the  crisp,  pure  mount- 
ain air,  and  the  beauties  so  lavishly  scattered  by  the  hand  of  Nature.  Picnic-parties, 
walking-parties,  pedestrians,  single  and  in  groups,  and  riding-parties,  we  find  scattered 
through  these  breezy  heights  and  umbrageous  forests  at  every  turn.  The  nearness  of 
the  Catskills  to  New  York  and  the  economy  with  which  the  mountain-trip  may  be 
made  make  this  beautiful  spur  of  our  great  coast-range  a  favorite  spot,  and  it  may 
be  observed  that  those  who  frequent  the  Catskills  appear  to  care  little  for  the  behests 
of  fashion,  but  to  give  themselves  up  wholly  to  the  delights  of  out-door  life  and  the 
pure,  sweet  recreations  of  Nature.  In  another  chapter  of  this  book  the  reader  will 
find  a  more  extended  mention  of  special  features  of  Catskill  scenery. 

If  the  Catskills  are  noticeable  as  a  summer  resort  for  the  easy-going,  unconven- 
tional lives  of  the  pilgrims  in  search  of  health  and  rest,  we  find  the  opposite  ex- 
treme at  Saratoga,  one  of  the  famous  watering-places  of  the  world.  Here  fashion, 
wealth,  and  extravagance  reign  supreme,  and  all  the  glitter  and  show  of  social  life 
make  the  summer  months  a  whirl  of  gayety  and  dissipation.  Probably  at  no  water- 
ing-place in  the  world  is  there  more  brilliancy  than  at  this  spa.  Aside  from  the 
element  of  fashion  and  social  excitement  so  noticeable  at  Saratoga,  the  salubrity  of 
the  air  and  medicinal  value  of  the  waters  contribute  to  attract  many  of  the  most 
distinguished  families  in  the  country.  One  constantly  meets  men  eminent  in  lit- 
erature, politics,  science,  and  art,  who  come  together  yearly  here,  as  if  at  a  great 
club,  by  common  consent,  and  who,  though  not  mingling  in  the  excitements  of  gay 
life,  love  to  watch  the  sparkling  throng.  The  finest  hotels  in  the  world  are  found  at 
Saratoga,  and  it  is  here  that  visitors  generally  stay.  Cottage-life,  which  constitutes 
the  prominent  fact  in  Newport  society,  is  scarcely  known  at  Saratoga,  or,  at  most, 
contributes  but  little  to  the  leading  characteristics  of  the  place. 

Saratoga  is  located  about  thirty-two  miles  northwest  of  Albany,  and  has  a  perma- 
nent population  of  not  less  than  fifteen  thousand,  which  is  doubled  in  the  summer 
months.  There  are  in  the  town  twenty-eight  mineral  springs,  of  which  six  are  spout- 
ing ones,  some  chalybeate,  others  impregnated  with  iodine,  iron,  sulphur,  and  mag- 
nesia, and  all  powerfully  charged  with  carbonic-acid  gas.  The  most  celebrated  of 
the  springs  are  the  Congress,  Empire,  Hathorn,  High  Rock,  Geyser,  Washington,  and 
Pavilion.  Large  quantities  of  the  waters  are  bottled  and  sent  to  all  portions  of  the 
country. 

The  medicinal  properties  of  the  Saratoga  springs  were  known  to  the  Indians  in 
very  early  times,  at  least  as  far  back  as  Jacques  Cartier's  visit  to  the  St.  Lawrence  in 
1535.  In  1767  Sir  William  Johnson  was  carried  hither  on  a  litter  by  his  Indian 
retainers,  and  it  is  believed  that  he  was  the  first  white  man  to  visit  the  springs.  The 
first  log-cabin  was  built  in  1773,  by  Derick  Scowton,  and  the  first  farm-house  in 
1784,  by  General  Schuyler.  In  1693  a  sanguinary  battle  was  fought  between  the 


266  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

French  and  English  at  this  point,  in  which  the  English  were  completely  victorious. 
In  fact,  all  the  country  about  Saratoga  was  "  bloody  ground,"  as  it  was  here  that  the 
French  and  English  disputed  supremacy  most  fiercely,  and  all  the  atrocities  of  Indian 
savagery  were  shown  at  their  worst.  It  was  here  also,  though  not  exactly  on  the 
present  site  of  the  town,  that  the  battle  of  Saratoga,  the  turning-point  of  the  Revo- 
lutionary contest,  was  fought  and  won  by  the  Americans.  The  name  Saratoga  is 
derived  from  an  Indian  word  which  means  "the  place  of  the  herrings,"  which  for- 
merly passed  up  the  Hudson  into  Saratoga  Lake. 

The  city  of  Saratoga  is  splendidly  built  on  two  or  three  of  its  main  streets,  of 
which  Broadway  is  the  chief,  with  hotels,  banks,  and  other  public  buildings,  and  all 
of  the  thoroughfares  have  a  delightful  rural  aspect,  in  spite  of  the  brilliant  concourse 
of  carriages  and  massive  structures,  from  fine  elm-trees  which  shade  the  streets. 
There  are  not  many  natural  attractions  of  scenery,  though  parts  of  the  lake,  which 
is  little  more  than  three  miles  east  of  the  town,  and  is  connected  with  the  Hudson 
River  by  a  creek,  are  quite  picturesque.  Several  fine  country-houses,  one  or  two  of 
them  among  the  most  costly  and  elegant  in  the  land,  have  been  built  here.  But  it 
is  not  to  see  picturesque  scenery  that  the  summer  pilgrims  who  frequent  Saratoga  have 
in  view.  It  is  rather  to  witness  or  take  part  in  the  unceasing  and  brilliant  gayety  of 
a  social  life  which,  for  activity  and  extravagance,  is  only  equaled  by  that  of  Newport 
among  summer  places,  and  that  of  New  York  during  the  winter  months.  To  this 
must  be  added  a  certain  proportion  moved  by  considerations  of  health,  or  attracted  by 
the  habits  of  many  years'  standing.  It  is  probable  that  the  average  number  of  sum- 
mer visitors  at  this  favorite  place  nearly  approaches  fifty  thousand,  though  but  a  small 
number  of  them  spend  the  whole  season. 

Leaving  the  fashionable  gayeties  of  Saratoga,  a  journey  of  a  little  more  than  thirty 
miles  in  a  northeasterly  direction  brings  us  to  a  region  of  such  picturesque  charm  and 
loveliness  as  to  be  almost  without  a  peer — the  shores  of  Lake  George,  famous  historically, 
famous  for  natural  beauty,  and  one  of  the  best-known  resorts  to  tourists  and  pleasure- 
seekers.  The  Indians  gave  the  name  of  Horicon  to  this  most  beautiful  of  American 
lakes,  the  word  meaning  "silver- water,"  a  title  well  applied  on  account  of  the  pellucid 
clearness  of  the  water.  The  early  French  explorers,  struck  with  the  same  characteris- 
tic, called  the  lake  "St.  Sacrement,"  and  so  highly  prized  its  water  that  they  actually 
sent  it  to  Montreal  for  baptismal  uses. 

Lake  George  is  located  in  Warren  County,  about  sixty  miles  directly  north  of 
Albany.  It  is  thirty-four  miles  long,  from  one  to  four  miles  in  width,  and  is  said  to 
be  at  places  nearly  four  hundred  feet  deep.  In  shape  it  is  long  and  narrow,  and 
flows  into  Lake  Champlain  by  a  narrow  rivulet,  at  the  northern  end,  about  four  miles 
long.  Lake  George  is  dotted  with  many  small  islands — one,  it  is  said,  for  every  day 
of  the  year — and  the  shores  lift  themselves  in  bold  highlands.  The  lake  is  literally 
embowered  among  the  hills,  a  brilliant  mirror  set  in  among  cliffs  and  wooded  mount- 
ains, the  rugged  sides  of  which  see  themselves  reflected  in  the  clear  and  silent  bosom 
of  the  waters. 


OUR  INLAND  PLEASURE-PLACES. 


267 


The  tourist  approaches  Lake  George  by  the  Saratoga  Railway  as  far  as  Glens 
Falls ;  thence  the  journey  is  made  by  that  most  delightful  method  of  travel  in  pict- 
uresque regions,  the  stage-coach.  The  first  glimpse  of  the  lake  is  had  as  the  coach 
approaches  Caldwell,  its  terminus.  Suddenly  the  Fort  William  Henry  Hotel,  built  on 
the  ruins  of  the  famous  old  fort,  comes  in  view,  and  the  stage  dashes  into  the  grounds 
up  before  the  wide  piazza  thronged  with  people.  On  one  side  of  the  traveler  all  is 
vivid  life  and  animation  ;  on  the  other,  a  marvelous  stretch  of  lake,  mountain,  island, 


Scents  at  Lake  George. 

wooded  shore — such  a  picture  in  charm,  brightness,  and  fullness,  as  rarely  delights 
the  eye  of  the  tourist.  One  may  linger  many  days  at  Caldwell  enjoying  the  changing 
beauties  of  the  scenery.  From  the  top  of  Prospect  Mountain,  on  the  southern  border 
of  the  lake,  to  which  a  good  road  ascends  from  Caldwell,  a  glorious  picture  of  the 
whole  region  is  spread  before  the  spectator. 

There  are  several  ways  of  enjoying  the  scenery  of  Lake  George.  A  steamboat 
makes  a  daily  trip  to  its  northern  end,  thirty-four  miles  away,  returning  the  same 
day.  One  may  also  hire  a  steam-launch  for  an  independent  exploration,  or  make  the 


268 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


entire  circuit  of  the  shore  in 
a  sail-  or  row-boat.  There  can 
be  no  more  charming  excur- 
sion >  than  a  sail  around  this 
American  Como,  as  it  has  fre- 
quently been  called.  The  rug- 
ged shores,  the  beautiful  little 
bays,  the  picturesque  islands, 
the  soft  glamour  of  the  wa- 
ters, the  towering  mountains, 
make  a  delightful  panorama. 
One  may  camp  out  at  night 
on  island  or  headland,  and 
thus  add  vastly  to  the  relish 
of  the  excursion.  Camping- 
parties  are  very  justly  in  vogue 
at  Lake  George. 

Let  us  now  take  the  steam- 
er which  daily  traverses  the 
length  of  "Silon  Water,"  and 
start  on  our  voyage  down  the 
lake.  We  pass  island  after  isl- 
and of  the  quaintest  charm, 
on  many  of  which  we  observe 
handsome  villas  or  perhaps  the 
tents  of  a  camping-out  party. 
At  what  is  called  the  Narrows 
the  course  of  the  lake  is  shut 
in  by  projecting  points  of  land, 
the  contracted  watery  strait 
being  crowded  again  with  isl- 
ands, on  one  of  which  is  a  fine 
hotel.  A  winding  «ail  among 
these  wooded  islets  is  delight- 
ful. On  the  east  shore  we 
see  Black  Mountain,  the  high- 
est of  the  peaks  that  line  the 
lake.  Densely  wooded  at  the 
base,  the  mountain  stands  out 
rocky  and  bare  at  its  summit 
of  nearly  three  thousand  feet. 
The  view  from  the  summit,  as- 


OUR  INLAND   PLEASURE-PLACES.  269 

cent  to  which  is  laborious,  is  magnificent.  Beyond  Black  Mountain  are  its  brethren, 
Sugar-loaf  and  Buck  Mountains.  The  next  place  of  importance  is  Sabbath-day  Point, 
a  tongue  of  land  which  juts  out  from  a  tall,  precipitous  hill,  just  beyond  which  is 
another  hill  of  corresponding  height.  Here,  as  at  so  many  other  points  on  the  lake, 
the  view  is  grand.  Beyond  this  again  we  find  Anthony's  Nose,  a  bold,  high  hill ;  and 
Kogers's  Slide,  a  cliff  on  the  lake-side,  which  gets  its  name  from  the  tradition  of  the 
exploit  of  a  bold  hunter,  who  made  a  daring  escape  from  the  Indians  at  the  time  of 
the  old  French  wars. 

Thus  sailing  by  the  most  varied  background  of  mountains  and  cliffs,  amid  charm- 
ing islands,  and  over  transparent  waters,  we  finally  reach  the  northern  end  of  the  lake. 
From  the  steamboat-landing  a  stage  conducts  us  to  Ticonderoga,  on  Lake  Champlain, 
four  miles  away.  The  waters  of  Lake  George  flow  through  a  narrow  channel,  and  mid- 
way on  their  way  to  Champlain  tumble  down  a  rocky  descent  in  a  very  picturesque  fall. 

Lake  George  is  made  interesting  by  history  and  legend,  as  well  as  by  its  superla- 
tive beauty  of  scenery.  Our  great  novelist,  Cooper,  peopled  it  with  the  creations  of 
his  genius,  and  the  names  of  Hawkeye,  Chin-gach-cook,  Uncas,  and  of  Alice  and 
Cora  Munro,  remain  associated  with  it  in  the  minds  of  all  lovers  of  American  litera- 
ture. Legends  of  daring  heroism  in  the  old  colonial  wars  belong  to  every  island  and 
headland,  and  it  was  here  that  some  of  the  most  important  ante-Revolutionary  events 
in  our  history  took  place.  Lake  George  first  came  into  conspicuous  notice  during  the 
French  war  of  1745,  though  it  had  been  discovered  and  explored  as  far  back  as  1646. 
During  the  first-named  year,  it  became  the  great  highway  between  the  North  and  the 
places  southward,  and  armies  tramped  back  and  forth,  or  met  in  fierce  conflict  on  its 
shores,  and  stained  its  silvery  waters  with  the  blood  of  battle.  It  was  on  this  lake 
that  Sir  William  Johnson,  commanding  the  English  forces,  met  the  Baron  Dieskau, 
commanding  an  army  of  French  and  Indians,  in  1755,  inflicting  a  bloody  repulse  on 
the  enemy.  Scouting-parties  at  this  period,  from  both  sides,  ranged  up  and  down  the 
lake,  and  came  together  in  endless  collisions,  which  were  full  of  romantic  incidents. 
Among  these  bold  scouts  was  Israel  Putnam,  whose  after-career  became  so  notable. 
In  1757  occurred  the  massacre  at  Fort  William  Henry,  which  gave  Fenimore  Cooper 
material  for  one  of  the  most  thrilling  scenes  in  his  romance,  "The  Last  of  the 
Mohicans."  Colonel  Munro  commanded  at  Fort  William  Henry,  and  here  he  was 
besieged  by  the  Marquis  Montcalm,  at  the  head  of  an  overwhelming  force  of  French 
and  Indians.  The  English  held  out  gallantly  till  forced  by  starvation  to  surrender, 
the  conditions  being  that  they  should  march  out  with  the  honors  of  war.  But  the 
Indian  allies  of  the  victor  were  uncontrollable,  and  a  horrible  massacre  ensued,  leav- 
ing a  dark  stain  on  the  otherwise  white  escutcheon  of  Montcalm.  which  his  heroic 
death,  on  the  Plains  of  Abraham  a  few  years  afterward,  hardly  effaced.  Two  more 
English  expeditions  speedily  ensued,  the  latter  of  which  was  successful  in  capturing 
the  French  forts  on  Lake  Champlain,  and  freeing  the  colonies  permanently  from  the 
fear  of  French  invasion.  Later,  during  the  Revolutionary  contest,  this  region  became 
the  theatre  of  stirring  scenes  in  the  Burgoyne  invasion. 


270 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


Champlaiu,  from  Fort   Ticonderoga, 


A  ride  of  four  miles  from  the  head  of  Lake  George  lands  us  at  Ticonderoga,  on 
Lake  Champlain.  The  fort  still  remains,  a  most  picturesque  old  ruin,  and  has  been 
left  unmolested  except  by  the  hand  of  Time.  Few  places  in  America  have  had  so 
many  romantic  associations,  or  undergone  so  many  vicissitudes  of  war.  After  being 
the  center  of  many  striking  events  prior  to  the  cession  of  Canada  in  1763,  it  became 
again  invested  with  historic  importance  at  the  breaking  out  of  the  Revolution  in 
1775,  when  it  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Americans  under  the  eccentric  leader  Colonel 
Ethan  Allen.  It  again  passed  into  the  hands  of  the  British,  where  it  remained  till 
the  surrender  of  General  Burgoyne  at  Saratoga.  Lake  Champlain  was  also  the  arena 
of  one  of  the  most  brilliant  naval  feats  of  the  War  of  1812 — the  defeat  and  capture 
of  a  British  fleet  by  Commodore  McDonough. 

Between  Lakes  George  and  Champlain  there  is  a  striking  difference,  though  each 
is  very  beautiful  in  its  way.  The  former,  full  of  exquisite  sylvan  charms  and  almost 


OUR  INLAND   PLEASURE-PLACES. 


271 


dainty  in  its  loveliness,  is  embowered  by  steep,  overhanging  hills,  which  are  reflected 
in  the  clear,  shining  waters.  On  Lake  Champlain  the  vision  takes  in  mountain-ranges 
stretching  far  away  to  the  right  and  left,  with  large  areas  of  beautiful  meadow  and 
farm-lands,  smiling  with  cozy  homes,  sloping  down  to  the  lake.  While  this  noble 
sheet  of  water  is  not  so  large  as  to  deny  the  pleasure-voyager  views  of  either  shore,  it 
has  those  sweeping  expanses  so  essential  to  a  really  fine  water-view.  The  length  is 
one  Imndred  and  twenty-six  miles,  the  width  about  thirteen.  North  of  Ticonderoga 
the  lake  begins  to  widen,  and  at  Burlington  Bay  expands  into  something  like  a  sea. 

Above  Ticonderoga  is  Crown  Point,  which  is  closely  connected  in  history  with  the 
other  fort.      A  few  miles  below  Burlington  a  spur  of  the  Adirondacks  stretches  down 


it  Rock,  Luke  Champlain. 


to  the  shore,  making  the  only  steep  cliffs  directly  on  the  water.  These  cliffs  terminate 
in  a  point,  known  as  Split  Rock,  where  the  rock  is  cut  off  by  a  huge  fissure  and 
converted  into  an  island.  There  is  a  broad  expanse  of  water  at  this  point,  for  sixty 
miles,  and  at  times  the  waves,  under  the  force  of  a  north  wind,  come  tumbling  in 
with  the  roar  of  ocean-surf,  and  the  spray  is  dashed  over  the  tall  light-house.  The 
distant  mountain-views  from  this  place  are  very  imposing.  On  the  one  side  are  the 
Green  Mountains,  purple  in  the  hazy  distance  ;  on  the  other  the  Adirondack  Hills 
mingle  their  blue  tops  with  the  clouds.  One  may  see  in  the  distance  the  highest 
peaks  in  Vermont,  Mansfield  and  Camel's  Hump,  and  among  the  distant  Adirondacks 
the  towering  top  of  Whiteface.  At  Burlington  Bay  the  wide  surface  of  the  water  is 


272  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

dotted  with  numerous  islands.  From  Burlington  to  Plattsburg  the  shores  continue  to 
be  of  varying  character,  and  full  of  pleasant  surprises.  At  Plattsburg  the  lake  has 
its  widest  reach,  though  a  long  island  breaks  the  expanse  nearly  midway  between  the 
two  shores.  St.  Albans  is  on  the  eastern  shore  of  the  lake,  near  the  northern  bound- 
ary of  Vermont.  Rouse's  Point  is  at  the  extreme  western  boundary  of  the  lake,  and 
is  on  the  border-line  of  Canada.  From  this  point  the  waters  of  the  lake  flow  into 
the  St.  Lawrence  by  a  narrow  stream  known  as  Sorel  or  Richelieu  River. 

From  the  day  when  the  American  fleet  under  McDonough  and  the  army  under 
McComb  inflicted  such  defeats  on  the  British,  on  the  waters  and  shores  of  Lake 
Champlain,  both  battles  being  fought  on  the  same  day,  unbroken  serenity  has  rested 
on  this  beautiful  little  inland  sea.  Fleets  of  vessels  have  traversed  its  waters,  but 
they  have  been  on  peaceful  errands.  Vast  armies  have  sailed  up  and  down  its  chan- 
nels, invaded  its  towns,  penetrated  the  forests,  and  assaulted  the  mountains  that  sur- 
round it,  but  they  have  beeen  armies  of  pleasure-seekers.  Lake  George  and  Lake 
Champlain  will  always  remain  among  the  most  favored  goals  of  summer  pilgrimage, 
for,  while  their  shores  and  waters  are  full  of  the  most  romantic  beauty,  the  quaint 
charm  of  the  historic  past  lingers  about  them  with  a  gentle  twilight  glow,  full  of 
fascination  for  a  susceptible  fancy. 

But  there  is  another  lovely  lake,  far  up  in  Northern  Vermont,  which  many  enthu- 
siastic tourists  declare  fully  equal  to  Lake  George  in  beauty.  To  reach  this  remote 
but  most  charming  spot  we  must  cross  from  the  town  of  St.  Albans,  which  is  on  the 
Vermont  side  of  Lake  Champlain,  to  Newport,  a  town  at  the  foot  of  Memphremagog. 
The  railway-journey  carries  us  across  the  Green  Mountains,  and  through  scenery  of 
the  most  picturesque  character,  which  would  repay  us  for  the  venture  if  we  had  not 
Memphremagog  to  look  forward  to.  This  beautiful  expanse  of  water,  with  its  awk- 
ward name,  is  overshadowed  by  mountains  and  bordered  by  dense  forests  and  grassy 
meadows.  Partly  in  Canada,  partly  in  Vermont,  it  is  thirty  miles  long  and  two  miles 
wide.  Deep  and  narrow,  it  is  gemmed  with  pretty  islands,  and  in  its  sparkling  waters 
speckled  trout  of  great  size  tempt  the  angler's  skill. 

The  puffy  little  steamboat,  which  navigates  the  placid  lake  in  the  interests  of  pleas- 
ure-seekers, transports  us  by  a  continual  succession  of  beautiful  scenes.  Here  a  nar- 
row cape  juts  out  amid  the  tossing,  shining  ripples  ;  there  the  land  forms  two  bays, 
with  rounded  outlines  and  wooded  shores.  Here  the  shore  is  high  and  cliff-guarded  ; 
there  the  banks  are  low  and  rolling,  girt  by  a  belt  of  yellow  sand.  The  deep  water 
takes  every  color  and  form  on  its  mirror-like  surface,  and  reproduces  them  with  the 
greatest  fidelity.  Villages  on  the  banks  and  islands,  many  of  the  latter  cultivated  and 
inhabited,  vary  the  scene,  and  lend  a  sweet  human  interest  to  it.  Among  these  are 
Province  Island,  a  pretty  garden  of  a  hundred  acres,  and  Tea-Table  Island,  which  is 
a  great  resort  for  picnic-parties.  As  we  glide  past,  pleasant  laughter  and  fancifully 
painted  row-boats  moored  to  the  little  jetty  speak  of  the  presence  of  youth  and  hap- 
piness. When  we  enter  British  waters  and  pass  Canadian  shores,  the  scenery  does 
not  lessen  in  picturesqueness  and  beauty.  Islands,  promontories,  and  cliffs  pass  by  in 


OUR  INLAND   PLEASURE-PLACES. 


273 


swift  succession.  Some  garrulous  na- 
tive tells  us  of  many  a  local  legend. 
Here  is  a  cave  hollowed  out  in  the  cliff, 
where,  rumor  has  it,  a  great  treasure 
of  gold  and  silver  is  hidden,  though 
persistent  search  has  failed  to  find  it. 
There  is  a  rocky  point  where  some  old 
hunter  or  Indian  fighter  performed  a 
great  exploit.  On  the  island  we  see 
yonder  was  the  den  of  a  daring  smug- 


gler, who  set  at  defiance  for  many  a 
long  year  the  combined  efforts  of  the 
custom-house  officers  of  both  nations 
to  catch  him.  Pleasant  summer  hotels 
here  and  there  show  their  low,  white 
buildings  on  the  lake-shore,  and  we  see, 
from  time  to  time,  a  pretty  villa  rising 
among  the  embowering  trees,  and  get 
glimpses  of  fine,  park-like  inclosures. 
Owl's  Head  is  the  most  prominent 

18 


274 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


mountain  on  the  lake,  and  is  cone-shaped.  From  a  point  high  up  on  its  rocky  side 
we  get  a  glorious  view  of  the  lake  and  its  shores,  of  distant  mountains  and  plains,  of 
cultivated  stretches  of  farm-lands,  of  almost  trackless  forests  far  away  in  the  distance, 


• 


Mount  Washington^  White  Mountains. 

and  of  other  shining  lakes  and  rivers.  The  summit  itself  is  riven  into  four  peaks, 
deep  ravines  intervening  between  them.  Once  a  year  a  lodge  of  Freemasons  meets 
here,  and  on  the  face  of  a  wall  of  rock  are  inscribed  some  of  the  mystic  symbols  of 


OUR  INLAND  PLEASURE-PLACED.  275 

the  order.  Other  mountains  on  the  lake  are  almost  as  imposing.  Mount  Elephantus, 
resembling  faintly  an  elephant's  back  from  one  point  of  view,  changes  into  the  form 
of  a  horseshoe  as  we  go  northward  ;  and  Mount  Oxford,  a  fine  peak,  closely  resembles 
Owl's  Head  in  shape. 

On  Lake  Memphremagog,  as  at  most  lake-resorts,  the  mountains  only  furnish  a 
background  for  the  charming  lake-scenery  itself,  an  element  of  visual  pleasure  sub- 
sidiary to  other  more  attractive  features.  To  enjoy  mountain-scenery  for  its  own 
sake,  to  fully  realize  the  majesty  and  strength  of  these  giant  forms,  which  lift  their 
scarred  and  lightning-riven  heads  up  amid  the  clouds,  we  must  go  to  the  great 
mountain-region  of  New  Hampshire,  which,  in  many  respects,  is  the  most  notable  of 
all  the  districts  of  high  elevation  east  of  the  Mississippi.  In  treating  of  our  inland 
summer  places,  it  is  not  our  purpose  to  enter  at  any  length  into  the  characteristics 
of  White  Mountain  scenery,  but  to  treat  it  only  with  reference  to  its  attractions  to 
the  pleasure-tourist.  A  more  detailed  sketch  of  mountain-scenery  in  New  Hampshire 
will  be  found  under  another  head.  Many  fine  hotels  are  scattered  through  the  mount- 
ains at  the  principal  points  of  interest,  among  which  are  the  Crawford  and  Glen 
Houses,  commanding  the  approaches  to  Mount  Washington  on  opposite  sides,  the 
Profile  House,  the  Twin  Mountain  House,  and  the  Fabyan  House.  These  are  only  a 
few  of  many  which  offer  excellent  or  luxuriant  accommodations  to  the  tourist,  as  the 
case  may  be.  The  height  which  stands  principally  in  the  public  imagination  as 
typical  of  the  White  Mountains  and  White  Mountain  scenery  is  Mount  Washington, 
the  loftiest  peak  of  the  range,  and,  with  the  exception  of  Black  Mountain  in  North 
Carolina,  higher  than  any  other  east  of  the  Mississippi  ;  and  to  this  noble  mountain 
we  will  make  a  short  summer  pilgrimage  in  search  of  the  beautiful. 

Choosing  among  the  valleys  the  one  whose  picturesque  beauty  begins  the  soonest, 
we  find  ourselves  at  the  head  of  Lake  Winnepesaukee,  with  two  lofty  peaks,  Whiteface 
and  Chocorua,  towering  in  the  distance.  Departing  from  Centre  Harbor,  a  summer 
resort  of  some  note,  we  start  by  stage-coach  for  Conway  and  the  mountains,  and  are 
soon  winding  among  the  high,  rugged  hills,  over  the  dark,  frowning  brows  of  cliffs, 
through  deep  ravines,  or  across  a  lofty  plateau  which  overlooks  the  amphitheatre  of 
hills.  One  watches  the  great  hill-tops  come  up  like  billows  from  out  the  sea  of 
mountains,  the  soft  purple  light  resting  over  them  like  a  thin  veil.  The  balmy 
fragrance  of  the  resinous  woods  and  of  a  thousand  growing  things  delight  one 
sense,  while  the  eye  is  enraptured  with  the  beauty  of  the  mountain-forms.  Reaching 
Conway,  we  again  take  stage,  after  a  night's  rest,  for  North  Conway,  which  is  on  a 
little  plain  near  the  base  of  Bartlett  Mountain,  and  Mount  Kearsarge,  about  a  three 
hours'  ride  from  Conway.  The  mountain-scenery  at  North  Conway  is  peculiar  for  its 
loveliness.  The  curves  of  a  snow-drift  and  the  curl  of  a  sea-wave  are  spoken  of  by 
Ruskin  as  among  the  most  beautiful  lines  in  Nature,  but  they  are  not  a  whit  more 
beautiful  than  the  curves  of  the  mountain,  as  seen  from  the  Arcadia  of  the  White 
Hills.  Here  Nature  seems  to  have  thrown  aside  her  harsh  and  severe  character  in  the 
very  granite  heart  of  New  England,  and  to  have  exulted  in  her  most  genial  mood. 


276  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

Starting  in  the  morning  from  North  Conway,  we  wind  along  the  plain  till  the 
valley  becomes  narrow  and  broken,  and  the  hills  abrupt.  Passing  by  the  flanks  of 
grand  hills,  picturesque  water-falls,  and  mountain  pools,  glimmering  through  the 
foliage  of  the  road-side,  we  soon  find  ourselves  among  the  towering  mountains  whose 
walls  fall  clear  down  to  the  carriage-track.  By  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  the  steep 
sides  of  Mount  Crawford  bound  the  way  on  one  side,  and,  by  the  time  we  reach  the 
little  hotel  under  Willey  Mountain,  the  low-down  sun  makes  further  journeying  for  the 
night  undesirable.  From  the  Willey  House  to  the  gate  of  Crawford  Notch  the  patli 
becomes  narrower  and  sterner.  The  slope  of  the  mountains  is  very  abrupt,  and  the 
narrow  ravine  is  almost  unbroken  for  three  miles  till  one  has  passed  the  gate  of  the 
Notch,  an  opening  hardly  wide  enough  to  allow  the  passage  of  a  team  of  horses. 
Just  beyond  this  gate  we  come  to  the  Crawford  House,  situated  on  a  little  plateau  of 
a  few  hundred  acres. 

The  ascent  of  Mount  Washington  from  this  point  by  the  bridle-path  is  more  satis- 
factory than  any  other,  as  it  affords  the  finest  views  of  mountain-scenery,  and  a  most 
exhilarating  experience.  We  start  on  a  sunny  morning  with  thick  garments,  for  we 
shall  find  the  air  keen  and  nipping  before  we  get  to  the  top.  When  everything  is  in 
readiness,  the  cavalcade — for  we  are  not  alone  in  the  trip — sets  off  up  through  the 
trees,  looking,  in  the  motley  costumes  of  the  party,  like  a  troupe  of  gypsies  as  it  winds 
along  the  shaded  path,  which  ascends  two  thousand  feet  during  the  first  two  or  three 
miles.  The  corduroy  path  that  we  finally  reach  is  so  steep  that  those  just  in  front 
appear  to  be  almost  overhead.  Here  and  there,  tired  and  thirsty,  we  stop  to  quaff 
the  delicious  cold  nectar  of  the  mountain-springs.  As  we  ascend  higher  and  higher, 
the  birches,  maples,  ashes,  and  poplars,  give  place  first  to  pine,  hemlock,  spruce,  and 
fir,  and  finally  to  a  sort  of  Arctic  vegetation,  and  on  the  summit  of  Mount  Clinton, 
which  we  have  been  climbing  on  our  way  to  Mount  Washington,  we  find  a  region  of 
dead  trees  as  white  as  ghosts. 

As  we  begin  to  descend  to  the  narrow  ridge,  which  unites  this  mountain  to  the 
next,  we  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  valley  two  thousand  feet  deep,  at  the  foot  of  which 
flows  the  Mount  Washington  Kiver,  along  the  edge  of  a  vast  forest.  At  the  left  at  an 
equal  depth  runs  the  Ammonoosuc,  and  we  get  our  first  vivid  notion  of  mountain- 
peril  when  the  horses,  planting  their  four  feet  together,  are  obliged  to  jump  several 
feet  to  the  rocks  beneath,  where  a  mistake  would  hurl  the  horse  and  rider  hundreds 
of  feet  down  the  mountain-side.  Passing  around  the  side  of  Mount  Monroe,  one  gazes 
into  a  frightful  abyss,  known  as  Bates's  Gulf.  Clouds  and  vapor  hang  against  its 
precipitous  sides,  and  gigantic  rocks  strew  the  bottom  of  the  gorge.  From  Monroe  is 
the  first  near  view  of  Mount  Washington,  which  rises  in  a  vast  cone  and  shines  with  bare 
gray  stones  fifteen  hundred  feet  higher,  across  a  wide  plateau  strewed  with  bowlders. 
This  elevated  plain  is  a  mile  above  the  sea,  and  in  the  crevices  of  rocks  and  patches 
of  soil  we  see  hardy  wild-flowers  and  straggling  grass,  and  here  and  there  a  small 
mountain-tarn.  By  turning  aside  a  little,  we  see  Tuckerman's  Kavine,  the  most  won- 
derful gorge  in  the  mountains,  lying  at  our  feet.  Having  crossed  the  plateau,  the 


OUR  INLAND   PLEASURE-PLACES. 


277 


last  four  or  five  hundred  feet  are  best  climbed  on  foot,  for   the   stones   are   loose  and 
the  ascent  perilously  steep^ 

Soon  we  reach  the  top  of  the  mountain,  and,  guarding  against  the  violence  of  the 
blast  by  getting  to  the  leeward  of  a  huge  rock,  we  command  a  view  more  extended 
and  exciting  than  any  east  of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  A  sea  of  heights  stretches  on 
every  side ;  the  near  peaks,  bald  and  scarred,  are  clothed  with  forests  black  and  pur- 
ple, and  sloping  to  the  valleys  so  remote  as  to  appear  insignificant.  Beyond  the 


Trtnttnt   Fa 


278  OUR    NATIVE  LAND. 

near  peaks  the  more  distant  mountains,  grand  and  solemn,  fall  away  rapidly  into  every 
variety  of  blue  and  purple,  glittering  with  lakes,  till  the  eye  reaches  the  sea-line  ninety 
miles  away. 

On  another  side  of  the  mountain  is  the  Mount  Washington  Railroad,  which  extends 
from  a  little  village  called  Marshfield  to  the  summit,  the  distance  being  about  three 
miles.  The  grade  is  thirty-five  hundred  and  ninety-six  feet  in  three  miles,  and  in 
places  one  foot  in  three.  There  is  a  center  rail  in  which  fits  a  cog-wheel,  that 
fairly  pulls  the  train  up  the  mountain,  and  its  safety  is  secured  by  self-acting  brakes. 
The  time  occupied  in  ascending  is  about  an  hour  and  a  half,  but  one  forgets  time 
in  the  magnificent  panorama  which  opens  more  and  more  widely  to  the  vision.  An- 
other route  is  by  carriage-road  from  the  Glen  House ;  but  of  all  these  different  excur- 
sions that  by  the  bridle-path  from  Crawford  Notch  is  the  favorite  one  with  lovers  of 
mountain-scenery.  Within  a  few  years  railway  communication  with  the  White  Mount- 
ains has  been  much  improved,  and  now  the  passenger  may  stop  close  to  the  Crawford 
House  and  other  adjacent  hotels,  but  the  genuine  admirers  of  the  picturesque  still 
very  naturally  prefer  the  old-fashioned  method  of  the  stage-coach. 

From  the  White  Mountains  of  New  Hampshire  the  summer  tourist  finds  a  total 
change  in  the  character  of  scenery  and  the  associations  of  travel  by  visiting  the  pict- 
uresque water-falls  and  lakes  of  Central  and  Western  New  York.  Trenton  Falls,  among 
such  natural  attractions,  is  only  less  famous  than  Niagara,  to  which,  while  inferior  in 
sublimity,  it  is  superior  in  picturesqueness  and  variety.  This  superb  chasm  lies  about 
fourteen  miles  west  of  Utica,  and  the  country  surrounding  the  falls  has  a  soft  pastoral 
loveliness  not  to  be  surpassed  for  those  who  love  Nature  in  her  quieter  moods.  The 
falls  are  close  to  the  hotel,  and  the  visitor  plunges  almost  at  once  into  the  heart  of  a 
forest  as  he  leaves  the  hotel-grounds.  The  light  of  the  sun  streams  in  golden  lances 
through  the  dim  cathedral  gloom  as  we  follow  the  path,  fringed  with  profuse  flowers. 
Beyond,  through  the  openings  of  the  foliage,  we  get  glimpses  of  noble  hill-forms ; 
but  between  them  and  us  there  is  a  great  gulf.  The  ground  rises  higher  and  higher, 
and  suddenly  our  progress  is  arrested  by  the  deep  chasm  whose  presence  has  hitherto 
been  concealed  by  the  gradual  ascent  and  the  great  fringe  of  trees  on  the  border. 
Down  below  we  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  Kanata  River  tumbling  over  its  rocky  bed. 

Here  the  first  descent  is  made  by  a  series  of  wooden  ladders,  and  we  are  landed 
safely  on  the  bank  of  the  stream.  We  look  ahead  and  see  the  first  of  the  series 
of  falls,  six  in  number,  known  as  Sherman  Falls,  after  the  discoverer,  a  grandson  of 
Roger  Sherman,  of  Revolutionary  memory.  Here  the  river  has  made  an  immense 
excavation  in  the  limestone,  and  falls  about  forty  feet  into  its  bed  below,  with  a  most 
furious  roaring. 

The  next  water-fall  has  also  a  descent  of  about  forty  feet,  but  the  precipice  seems 
to  be  broken  into  a  series  of  narrow  shelves,  and  over  this  inclined  ledge  the  waters 
roll  in  a  tumultuous  mass  of  foam.  But  the  other  side  of  the  fall,  for  it  is  duplex, 
is  seventy-five  feet  ;  and  here  the  stream  falls  in  a  thin,  silvery  sheet,  broken  into 
cascades  by  projecting  shales  of  limestone.  In  the  very  center  of  the  ledge  are  frown- 


OUR  INLAND   PLEASURE-PLACES.  279 

ing  masses  of  limestone,  rising  like  a  bastion,  which  separate  the  fall  in  two.  At  this 
point  the  walls  of  the  cliff  on  either  side  rise  for  one  hundred  and  thirty  feet,  and 
through  the  strata  of  dark-gray  limestone  or  of  loose,  crumbling  shale,  which  make  up 
the  face  of  the  huge  rock-walls,  there  grow  dwarf-cedars  of  low  height,  but  of  great 
fullness  of  branch  and  foliage.  Close  to  the  bank,  at  whose  foot  the  visitor  creeps,  is 
the  great  glory  of  the  chasm,  for  here  the  water  pours  over  in  one  tremendous,  arch- 
ing flood.  The  color  of  the  leaping  water,  which  is  impelled  forward  in  the  air  as  if 
shot  off  some  gigantic  wheel,  is  an  exquisite  topaz  in  hue,  and  nothing  can  surpass 
the  beauty  of  its  changing  tints,  as  it  lights  up  in  gleams  of  sunshine.  Great  clouds 
of  spray  rise  up,  lifting  dancing  arches  of  rainbow,  and  sail  away  into  the  upper  air 
in  floating  wreaths. 

Most  visitors,  after  scrambling  up  and  down  the  stairways  necessary  to  take,  in 
viewing  the  different  beauties  of  Trenton  Falls,  find  rest  in  a  little  wooden  cottage 
built  on  a  rocky  plateau  under  the  shadow  of  the  bank.  The  lovers  of  science  find 
wonderful  fossil  forms  in  the  rocks  about  this  spot,  in  number  and  curiosity  rarely 
equaled,  which  adds  fresh  attraction  for  those  interested  in  such  things,  though  the 
majority  of  visitors  care  but  little  for  the  dead  past,  in  the  glory  and  beauty  which 
fill  their  senses  with  the  overwhelming  present.  Next  to  the  great  fall,  about  two 
hundred  yards  away,  is  another,  called  the  Mill-Dam,  from  its  sober  and  regular 
descent  over  an  inclined  ledge  of  twelve  feet.  Then  we  come  to  the  Alhambra  Fall. 
The  rocks  here,  on  each  side,  are  very  bold,  and  fringed  from  top  to  bottom  with  fine 
cedars,  the  branches  of  which  are  thrust  forward  in  pyramidal  shape,  with  great  full- 
ness of  foliage.  The  rock-ledge  over  which  the  water  tumbles  is  fully  sixty  feet  high. 
The  top  shelves  somewhat,  and  the  flood  pours  over  this  in  a  superb  amber  stream 
on  the  one  side,  while  on  the  left  is  a  wild  cataract,  where  the  stream  rushes  over 
the  various  strata,  arrayed  like  great  stairs,  in  a  succession  of  infinitely  varied  falls, 
combining  the  forms  of  the  gentlest  cascade  and  the  most  savage  torrent.  Tall  cedars 
swathe  the  whole  cliff  with  a  mass  of  impenetrable  gloom  on  either  side,  far  down 
the  edges  of  the  cataract,  lending  it  an  aspect  of  united  majesty  and  beauty. 

All  about  Trenton  Falls  the  rock-forms — both  the  isolated  ones  and  the  cliffs- 
are  remarkable  for  their  bold  and  eccentric  shapes,  and  lend  a  peculiar  accent  of 
wildness  to  the  roar  and  glitter  of  the  tumbling  waters.  Among  these  are  the 
Pinnacle,  a  cliff-form  which  shoots  up  like  an  obelisk,  two  hundred  feet  in  height ; 
a  huge  perpendicular  cliff,  called  the  Tarpeian  Rock,  around  which  the  deep,  dark 
waters  glide  smoothly  ;  and  a  great  column  of  limestone,  which  looks  down  on  the 
hills  around  it.  The  country  in  the  vicinity  of  the  falls  is  beautifully  picturesque, 
and  the  woods  have  a  park-like  charm,  which  make  them  a  most  attractive  prom- 
enade. Trenton  Falls  and  their  surroundings  are  quite  remarkable  for  the  diversity 
of  their  beauties,  ranging  from  the  gentle  and  idyllic  to  the  bold  and  sublime. 

Somewhat  southeast  from  Trenton  Falls,  and  only  a  few  hours'  ride  by  stage  and 
rail,  is  the  charming  Otsego  Lake,  which  Fenimore  Cooper  has  made  immortal  in 
our  fiction,  through  his  novel  of  "  The  Pioneers."  The  shade  of  Leatherstocking 


280 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


haunts  this  classic  precinct,  and  has  probably  contributed  largely  to  make  the  region 
a  favorite  haunt  of  summer  tourists,  who  make  their  headquarters  at  Cooperstown, 
which  is  situated  near  the  foot  of  the  lake.  In  a  northwesterly  direction,  a  few  miles 
away  from  Cooperstown,  is  Richfield  Springs,  a  notable  watering-place,  with  communi- 
cation from  the  former  place  by  stage.  Richfield  Springs  is  a  resort  principally  known 


A  Nook  near  tlie  Foot  of  Ltilce  Cmiandaig-ua. 

for  its  sulphur- waters,  though  the  scenery  and  surroundings  are  of  an  attractive  char- 
acter. We  must  go  much  farther  west  to  reach  the  great  lake-region  of  Central  New 
York,  which,  in  its  way,  is  as  picturesque  as  any  portion  of  the  United  States.  The 
principal  of  these  lakes  are  Oneida,  Cayuga,  and  Seneca,  and  among  the  smaller  ones 
are  Canandaigua.  Keuka,  and  Skaneateles.  -  All  these  lakes  have  their  main  charac- 


OUR  INLAND   PLEASURE-PLACES. 


281 


teristics  in  common.  They 
are  long  and  narrow,  more 
or  less  studded  with  little 
islands,  and  surrounded  by 
high,  hold  hills,  often  dense- 
ly wooded  to  the  very  wa- 
ter's edge. 

Let  us  take  a  brief  glance 
at  the  charming  Lake  Can- 
andaigua,  one  of  the  smaller 
ones  of  the  group,  as  fairly 
typical  of  the  whole.  .The 
lake  lies  among  six  towns, 
one  of  which  is  named  from 
it.  They  look  down  on  the 
Sleeping  Beauty,  as  the  lake 
has  been  sometimes  called, 
from  a  background  of  wood- 
ed slope,  or  hill-side,  smil- 
ing with  vineyards,  and  see 
their  images  reflected  in  its 
calm  bosom.  It  reaches  six- 
teen miles  from  north  to 
south,  and  is  nowhere  broad- 
er than  a  mile  or  two.  The 
jutting  points  and  deep  coves 
frequently  shut  out  most  of 
its  little  length.  On  it  ply 
two  small  steamboats  and 
craft  innumerable,  vehicles 
of  business  or  pleasure.  The 
mimic  capes  shoot  out  in 
long,  sharp  tongues,  and  off 
the  outer  edge  you  may  of- 
ten dive,  if  you  will,  into 
four  hundred  feet  of  water. 
The  lake  presents  almost 
every  variety  of  scenery  in 
its  surroundings  of  hills  and 
meadows,  charming  forests, 
and  vineyard-covered  slopes. 
For  the  sportsman  and  tour- 


Entrance  to  Wutkiits  Glen. 


282 


OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 


Cathedral. 


ist,  Canandaigua,  in  common  with 
its  sister  lakes,  is  a  fascinating 
spot,  and  its  shores  are  usually 
well  patronized  by  summer  pleas- 
ure-seekers. 

At  the  head  of  Seneca  Lake  is 
the  town  of  Watkins,  which  has 
become  famous  to  lovers  of  the 
picturesque  on  account  of  its  won- 
derful glen.  The  town  lies  within 
the  shadow  of  Buck  Mountain,  and 
as  we  pass  up  the  main  street,  par- 
allel with  the  mountain-slope,  a 
walk  of  a  quarter  of  a  mile  brings 
us  to  a  bridge  which  spans  a  nar- 
row stream.  This  stream  cuts  its 
way  through  the  lower  slope  of  the 
mountain -range,  and  has  formed 
for  itself  a  short  pass  or  cul-de-sac, 
which  terminates  abruptly  at  a  dis- 
tance of  a  few  hundred  yards  in  a 
lofty  wall  that  stretches  across  the 
path  and  bars  all  further  progress. 
Behind  this  solemn  gateway  of  natu- 
ral masonry  lie  the  gloomy  ravines, 
the  infinite  variety  of  water-falls, 
foaming  rapids,  and  deep,  silent 
pools,  which  have  become  famous 
under  the  designation  of  Watkins 
Glen.  The  mode  of  entrance  to 
the  glen  is  by  rude  stairways,  run- 
ning diagonally  along  the  face  of 
the  wall,  strongly  propped  and 
braced.  Landing-places  occur  at 
intervals,  from  which  other  stair- 
ways spring,  and  thus  the  ascent 
is  made  till  we  surmount  the  en- 
trance to  the  gorge. 

First,  we  come  to  Glen  Alpha, 
where  the  river  pours  and  swirls  in 
cascades  through  the  great  chasm, 
and  dashes  its  spray  high  up  on 


OUR   INLAND   PLEASURE-PLACES.  283 

the  steep  walls.  The  place  grows  more  and  more  weird,  and  we  seem  to  be  amid 
the  ruins  of  some  wonderful  primitive  world.  The  rocks  take  on  the  most  grotesque 
forms,  and  the  abyss,  along  whose  sides  we  clamber  on  the  rude  stairways,  sends 
up  a  cold  chill  like  that  from  a  charnel-house.  The  walls  over  our  heads  rise  tier  on 
tier  to  a  height  which  shuts  out  all  but  a  narrow  strip  of  the  blue  sky.  When  we 
have  climbed  out  of  this  gloomy  but  impressive  gorge  by  the  winding  and  narrow 
stairways,  we  find  ourselves  on  a  shelf  of  the  mountain,  where  an  excellent  hotel 
invites  the  weary  tourist. 

From  the  Mountain-House  a  downward  path  conducts  us  almost  to  the  bed  of  the 
stream,  and,  after  passing  another  series  of  cascades  and  rapids,  we  cross  a  bridge  to 
the  other  side  of  the  gorge,  where  the  cliffs  are  rent  and  torn  into  many  strange 
shapes.  They  finally  expand  into  a  wide  amphitheatre,  to  which  has  been  given  the 
name  of  Glen  Cathedral.  The  circular  walls,  rising  to  a  great  height,  are  crowned 
with  dense  green  hemlocks.  The  floor  of  the  amphitheatre  is  as  smooth  as  if  laid  by 
human  hands,  and  the  stream  spreads  over  the  floor  with  hardly  a  ripple  to  break 
its  surface.  As  we  pass  on,  fresh  cascades  reveal  their  beauty  to  us,  and  we  have  the 
Glen  of  the  Pools  before  us,  so  called  from  the  extent  and  variety  of  its  water-worn 
basins.  Cavern  Cascade  and  Eainbow  Falls  successively  charm  the  eye  and  the  fancy, 
as  we  survey  them  from  the  ladders  and  stairways  on  which  we  climb  from  point 
to  point. 

In  this  deep  rift  of  the  mountain  the  eye  shifts  from  beauty  to  beauty,  from 
marvel  to  marvel,  with  unsatiated  sense  of  delight.  The  tumbling  water- falls ;  the 
dark,  silent  pools ;  the  light  above  reflecting  from  cliff  to  cliff,  and  glancing  with 
rich  beauty  on  rock  and  cascade  ;  the  fantastic  growths  of  trees  at  every  point  of 
vantage,  and  the  interlacing  branches  above  ;  the  picturesque  bridges  and  stairways ; 
the  profound-  silence,  only  broken  by  the  sound  of  the  waters — all  these  conditions 
make  up  a  fascinating  charm,  that  each  succeeding  picture  varies  in  detail,  but  which 
pertains  with  equal  force  to  every  part  of  the  glen.  The  extreme  length  of  the  glen 
is  about  three  miles,  and  the  cliffs  at  the  deepest  part  of  the  gorge  have  an  altitude 
of  probably  three  hundred  feet.  Three  miles  south  of  Watkins  is  Havana  Glen, 
which  is  very  picturesque,  but  lacking  in  many  of  the  elements  which  make  Wat- 
kins  Glen  so  unique. 

From  Watkins  Glen,  which  every  year  attracts  tourists  more  and  more,  a  journey  of 
a  little  more  than  six  hours  over  a  branch  of  the  New  York  Central  Eailway,  as  far 
as  Rochester,  and  thence  by  the  main  line,  brings  us  to  a  spot  which,  take  it  for  all 
in  all,  is  one  of  the  very  greatest  natural  wonders  in  the  world — Niagara  Falls,  a  cata- 
ract so  supreme  in  all  the  elements  which  constitute  sublimity  that  no  other  thus  far 
known  to  travelers  is  worthy  to  be  compared  with  it.  Here  the  accumulated  waters  of 
four  great  inland  seas  hurl  themselves  madly  over  on  their  way  to  the  ocean  through 
the  Niagara  River  to  Lake  Ontario,  and  thence  to  the  St.  Lawrence.  The  territory, 
whose  drainage  passes  over  this  great  cliff  of  limestone,  is  equal  to  the  whole  conti- 
nent of  Europe,  many  of  the  streams  that  feed  Lake  Superior  being  fully  two  thousand 


284 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


miles  away.  Hence  the 
volume  of  water  is  so 
enormous  as  to  produce 
the  most  majestic  ef- 
fects ;  and  it  may  be 
doubted  whether  Niaga- 
ra would  gain  much  by 
any  increase  in  height. 
At  present,  the  height 
on  the  American  is  one 
hundred  and  fifty-four 
feet,  and  on  the  Cana- 
dian side  one  hundred 
and  forty-five  feet. 

The  approaches  and 
surroundings  of  Niagara  are 
prosaic   and  commonplace   in 
the  extreme.      No  charm  of 
the  picturesque  or  beautiful 

diverts  the  attention  from  the  height  of  the  imposing  precipice  and  the  thundering 
flood  of  waters  which  pours  over  it.  No  taste  in  landscape-gardening  has  been  em- 
ployed to  beautify  the  village  of  Niagara,  and  everything  has  been  left  to  those  con- 


Falle,  Niagara. 


OUR  INLAND  PLEASURE-PLACES. 


285 


ditions  imposed  by  the  rapacity  of  the  people,  who  prey  on  the  pockets  and  patience 
of  wonder-seekers  from  all  parts  of  the  world.  Some  movement  has  from  time  to 
time  been  set  on  foot  to  transform  Niagara  into  an  international  park,  guarded  by 
the  joint  authority  of  Canada  and  the  State  of  New  York,  but  it  has  made  little 
progress  since  Lord  Dufferin,  the  late  Governor-General  of  Canada,  who  originated 
the  plan,  was  transferred  to  another  field  of  duty. 

The  flow  of   the  great  volume   of   waters    from  Lake    Erie   through    Niagara  Kiver 

•into  Lake   Ontario  has   gradually  caused  the    retrogression   of   the  cataract  from  the 

mouth   of  the   Niagara   Kiver   to   the   present   location,  the  tremendous   force  of  the 


Rapids  above  tlie  American  Fall. 

waters  having  cut  through  the  great  limestone  ledge  and  worn  it  back.  It  is  sup- 
posed that  it  has  already  taken  thirty-seven  thousand  years  to  accomplish  this,  and 
that  it  will  take  a  much  longer  period  to  remove  it  back  to  the  head  of  Lake  Erie, 
at  which  time  the  falls  will  be  somewhat  higher  than  they  are  now,  as  the  slope 
of  the  river-bed  is  considerable  in  its  angle  of  descent. 

Niagara  Falls  are  divided  into  two  cataracts — the  Horseshoe  Fall,  which  is  on  the 
Canada  side,  and  the  fall  on  the  American  side.  Between  the  two  falls  are  Goat  and 
Luna  Islands.  The  whole  width  of  the  river  at  this  point  is  forty-five  hundred  feet, 
of  which  the  American  fall  occupies  eleven  hundred  feet,  Goat  and  Luna  Islands 


286  OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 

fourteen  hundred  feet,  and  the  Horseshoe  two  thousand  feet,  though  from  the  curvi- 
linear shape  of  the  latter  its  actual  line  is  probably  nearly  twice  as  much.  One  does 
not  at  first  observe  any  detail,  for  the  effect  is  of  a  stunning  nature  which  blunts  all 
the  faculties  of  observation,  and  indeed  prevents  a  full  recognition  of  the  peerless 
grandeur  of  the  scene.  We  see  the  extraordinary  volume  of  the  flood  and  its  deep, 
rich  color ;  we  see  the  vast  clouds  of  smoke-like  spray  rising  from  the  base  of  the 
cataract ;  we  hear  the  booming  thunder  of  the  waters — that  is  all.  It  is  only  when 
the  eye  and  imagination  have  become  a  litttle  familiarized  with  the  scene  that  we ' 
estimate  the  sight  at  its  true  value. 

The  rapids  above  the  Horseshoe  Falls  are  best  viewed  from  the  top  of  Prince  of 
Wales's  Tower,  situated  on  an  island  in  the  rapids  above  the  fall.  The  scene  is  one 
which  gives  the  mind  a  vivid  notion  of  irrepressible  power,  almost  as  much  as  the 
vision  of  the  cataract  itself  close  at  hand.  The  rapids  extend  from  the  verge  of  the 
falls  for  half  a  mile,  and  so  furious  is  the  impetuosity  of  the  current  that  the  center 
is  heaped  up  in  a  ridge-like  form,  and  the  waves  on  either  side  leap  into  the  air  like 
huge  fish.  Great  logs  and  trees  come  swooping  down,  taking  leaps  like  greyhounds, 
and  dart  along  with  the  speed  of  a  railway-train  to  the  verge  of  the  cataract.  One 
fancies  a  human  being  borne  down  by  this  irresistible  current  with  a  feeling  of  creep- 
ing horror. 

An  excellent  view  of  the  American  rapids  is  had  from  the  Cataract  House,  which 
is  near  the  bridge  connecting  the  American  side  with  Bath  Island,  and  thence  again 
with  Goat  Island.  Here  we  see  the  rushing  waters  contrasted  with  innumerable  small 
wooded  islets,  giving  an  immense  relief  to  the  current,  and  exhibiting  its  rapidity  in 
the  most  vivid  way.  By  moonlight  this  view  is  magnificent  beyond  description.  The 
white  light  shines  over  the  very  verge  of  the  cataract,  casting  its  beams  over  the  fierce 
rapids,  turning  the  dark  waves  into  ebony  and  the  leaping  foam  into  molten  silver. 

Crossing  the  bridge  to  Goat  Island  we  find  ourselves  amid  the  fragrant  delights 
of  a  garden,  for  roses  and  heliotropes  grow  on  every  side,  while  the  long,  lush  grass 
makes  a  soft  mat  for  the  feet,  and  groves  of  fine  trees  offer  agreeable  shade.  Sooner 
or  later  this  spot,  smiling  and  fair  amid  the  war  of  waters,  will  be  carried  away,  for 
year  by  year  the  torrent  is  gnawing  into  it.  On  the  left  side  there  is  a  bridge  con- 
necting the  island  with  a  firm  rock  on  the  very  verge  of  the  cataract.  On  this  rock 
formerly  stood  Terrapin  Tower,  which  was  removed  in  1873  on  account  of  its  unsafety. 
We  venture  to  cross  the  short  bridge,  and  from  the  slippery  rock  catch  the  sublimest 
of  all  views  of  the  falls.  We  see  only  the  Horseshoe,  to  be  sure ;  but  we  see  all  of 
that,  and  get  a  transcendent  vision  of  the  might  of  the  cataract.  The  clouds  of  spray 
mount  up  to  us  as  if  they  were  exhalations  from  some  magician's  den,  and  had  power 
to  drag  us  down  again  with  their  shadowy,  spectral  forms.' 

We  have  seen  the  falls  from  above ;  let  us  now  dare  the  drenching  spray  and  see 
them  from  behind  the  vast  flood  of  descending  waters.  Having  donned  oil-skin  suits, 
we  descend  the  stairway  from  Termination  Point,  which  abuts  on  the  American  fall, 
and  make  our  way  carefully  to  the  bottom  of  the  rocks.  Here  we  come  to  the  famous 


OUR  INLAND  PLEASURE-PLACED. 


287 


Cave  of  the  Winds, 


288  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

Cave  of  the  Winds,  the  great  lion  of  the  American  Fall.  We  find  bridges  built  from 
rock  to  rock,  under  the  very  cataract,  amid  all  its  vapory  spray  and  thundering 
turmoil.  We  stagger  blindly  on,  preceded  by  the  guide,  our  eyes  blinded  by  the  tor- 
rents of  spray  incessantly  dashed  against  us.  The  concussion  of  the  waters  produces 
a  violent  rush  of  air,  against  which  it  is  difficult  to  stand.  The  slanting  beams  of 
sunlight  are  broken  by  the  mist  into  innumerable  globes  and  bubbles  of  color,  and 
the  cavern  seems  a  palace  of  broken  rainbows.  But  it  is  difficult  to  admire  under 
the  beating  of  the  madly-drifting  columns  and  whirls  of  spray.  So  violent  is  the 
storm  that  it  almost  knocks  the  breath  out  of  the  body,  while  the  ears  are  deafened 
by  the  noise  as  if  by  a  cannonade.  The  cataract  shrieks  and  groans  and  bellows 
in  fifty  different  voices  at  once,  while  over  all  is  heard  the  deep-booming  roar  of  the 
distant  Horseshoe  Fall.  Amid  all  this  hideous  turmoil  of  sound,  too,  may  be  heard 
faint,  inarticulate  voices,  which  seem  to  the  imagination  full  of  import — voices  that 
invite,  murmur,  and  threaten  with  mysterious  eloquence — such  voices  as  the  supersti- 
tious German  peasant  hears  in  the  depth  of  the  midnight  woods,  when  he  believes 
the  Erl-king  and  his  demon-train  are  sweeping  through  the  forests. 

The  Whirlpool  is  three  miles  below,  and  it  can  be  best  observed  from  the  Amer- 
ican side  at  the  base  of  the  cliff,  to  which  we  descend  by  an  elevator.  The  width  of 
the  chasm  at  the  rapids  immediately  above  the  Whirlpool  is  narrowed  to  eight  hun- 
dred feet,  and  the  depth  of  the  river  and  the  swiftness  of  the  current  heap  up  the 
water  in  the  center,  from  which  foaming  waves  continually  shoot  into  the  air.  The 
Whirlpool  is  a  vast  semicircular  eddy,  which,  meeting  with  some  resistance  at  that 
point  from  the  bank,  swirls  around  in  a  furious,  boiling  curve.  Descending  the  rugged 
cliff,  we  find  ourselves  at  the  head  of  the  whirling  waters.  They  fairly  hiss  as  they 
seethe  past  us,  seeming  to  have  an  independent  life  of  their  own,  and  to  be  animated 
with  human  passions.  Into  this  whirlpool,  and  into  the  smaller  eddies  which  are 
made  by  its  reaction,  great  trees  are  sucked  down  head-foremost  in  a  second,  and 
vomited  out  again  with  every  vestige  of  branches  and  bark  stripped  off,  and  even 
great  splinters  riven  out  of  the  hard  wood.  It  is  a  veritable  battle  of  the  waters, 
current  fighting  current,  wave  fighting  wave,  with  a  great  uproar. 

The  longer  one  lingers  at  Niagara  Falls  the  deeper  the  impression  made  on  the 
mind.  Their  might  and  majesty  grow  on  the  fancy  with  continued  watching,  and 
weeks  may  be  spent  in  studying  the  different  glories  of.  the  cataract  with  ever-grow- 
ing interest.  This  is  the  surest  test  of  the  highest  degree  of  beauty  or  sublimity, 
and  nobly  does  Niagara  meet  it.  Each  fresh  point  of  observation  gives  new  pleasure 
to  the  mind,  and  summer  and  winter  have  their  corresponding  effects  of  splendor. 
Niagara  will  always  remain  one  of  the  wonders  of  the  world,  a  Mecca  to  which  lovers 
of  the  sublime  will  turn  their  feet  for  all  ages  to  come.  ' 

No  greater  contrast  can  be  presented  to  the  fancy,  after  the  sublimity  of  Niagara, 
than  the  fairy-like  beauty  of  the  Thousand  Islands,  to  which  we  will  now  journey.  At 
Niagara,  we  found  ourselves  awed  and  dwarfed  by  the  might  of  Nature ;  here,  we  are 
charmed  and  soothed  by  her  serene,  picturesque  loveliness.  Just  at  the  point  where 


OUR  INLAND  PLEASURE-PLACES. 


Lake  Ontario  empties  its 
waters  into  the  great  river 
St.  Lawrence,  a  barrier  of 
granite  rock  bars  its  course. 
Through  the  grooves  and 
depressions  in  this  rock  the 
river  winds  its  way  by  a 
hundred  different  channels; 
while  all  the  higher  mass- 
es rise  above  the  surface 
of  the  water  as  tiny  islets, 
crowned  with  brush  -  wood 
and  Canadian  pines.  Ages 
ago,  during  the  great  glacial 
period,  the  ice  wore  down 


Among  the  Thousand  Islands, 


the  summits  of  these  rocky  bosses  into  smooth, 
rounded  domes  ;  and  now  they  appear  upon  the 
river's  edge  like  basking  whales  or  huge  ele- 
phants' backs.  You  may  trace  the  markings  of 

the  glacier  on  the  scratched  and  worn  granite,  just  as  you  may  trace  it  on  the  wall- 
like  rocks  of  Swiss  valleys,  or  on  the  grand  slopes  of  our  own  Western  Sierras.  Some- 
times the  water  has  washed  away  the  side  into  a  mimic  cliff ;  but,  more  often,  the 

19 


290  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

rounded  boss  rises  in  a  gentle  curve  above  the  blue  waves,  showing  its  red  seamed 
structure  near  the  edge,  and  covered  toward  its  summit  by  mold,  on  which  grow  low 
bushes  or  tall  and  stately  trees. 

Some  of  the  islands  are  big  enough  to  afford  farms  for  the  industrious  squatter, 
who  has  made  himself  a  title  by  the  simple  act  of  settling  down  bodily  on  his  appro- 
priated realm.  Others,  however,  are  mere  points  of  granite,  on  which  a  single  pine 
maintains  a  struggling  existence  against  wave  in  summer  and  ice-floe  in  winter ;  while 
not  a  few  consist  only  of  a  bare,  rocky  hog's  back,  just  raised  an  inch  or  two  above 
the  general  level  of  the  water.  But  the  most  wonderful  point  of  all  is  their  number. 
Most  people  imagine  that  the  term  "  Thousand  Islands "  is  a  pardonable  poetical 
exaggeration,  covering  a  prosaic  and  statistical  reality  of  some  fifty  or  a  hundred 
actual  islets.  But  no,  not  at  all — the  popular  name  really  understates  the  true  feat- 
ures of  the  case.  A  regular  survey  reveals  the  astonishing  fact  that  no  fewer  than 
three  thousand  of  these  lovely  little  fairy-lands  stud  the  blue  expanse  to  which  they 
give  their  name — the  Lake  of  the  Thousand  Islands.  All  day  long  you  may  wander 
in  and  out  among  their  intricate  mazes,  gliding  round  tiny  capes,  exploring  narrow 
channels,  losing  your  way  hopelessly  in  watery  culs-de-sac,  and  drinking  in  beauty  to 
your  soul's  content.  Fairy-lands  we  called  them  just  now,  and  fairy-lands  they  veri- 
tably seem.  Their  charm  is  all  their  own.  One  may  see  wonderful  variety  of 
scenery  on  this  planet  of  ours,  north,  south,  east,  and  west ;  but  we  can  never  see 
anything  so  unique,  so  individual,  so  perfectly  sui  generis  as  these  Thousand  Islands. 
Not  that  they  are  so  surpassingly  beautiful ;  but  their  beauty  is  so  unlike  anything 
that  one  may  see  anywhere  else.  Tiny  little  islands,  placed  in  tiny  little  rivers, 
crowned  with  tiny  little  chalets,  and  navigated  by  tiny  little  yachts ;  it  all  reminds 
one  so  thoroughly  of  one's  childish  dream-lands,  that  we  should  hardly  be  surprised 
to  see  Queen  Mab  or  Queen  Titania  step  down,  wand  in  hand,  to  the  water's  side, 
and  a  group  of  attendant  fairies  dance  around  her  in  a  grassy  circle. 

Summering  at  the  Thousand  Islands  would  be  almost  like  living  in  the  fabled 
land  of  the  lotus-eaters,  were  it  not  that  out-of-door  sports  invite  so  persuasively  that 
the  blood  is  kept  in  a  constant  state  of  exhilaration.  Boating  and  fishing  alternate 
with  enjoying  the  "sweet  doing  nothing"  suggested  by  soft  blue  skies,  gentle  breezes, 
and  calm  waters.  Those  who  love  the  gay  crowds  of  fashion  may  enjoy  them  at  the 
hotels,  but  to  those  of  more  robust  tastes  camping-out  will  be  far  more  agreeable. 
Many  of  the  uninhabited  islands  gleam  with  the  snowy  canvas  of  little  parties,  and 
the  out-door  bivouac  presents  here  less  hardship  than  in  other  regions,  as  most  of 
the  comforts  and  luxuries  of  life  may  be  so  easily  obtained.  This  charming  haunt 
has  so  grown  in  favor  during  a  few  years  that  it  is  probable,  before  many  seasons 
have  passed,  that  every  island  will  be  utilized  for  summer  homes,  where  there  is 
enough  ground  to  erect  a  little  cottage,  thus  transforming  it  into  a  sort  of  Ameri- 
can Venice,  for  the  only  means  of  communication  between  the  denizens  of  this  inland 
archipelago  is  by  boat. 

We   must   not   leave    the    St.   Lawrence,  one   of   the   noblest  of  American   streams. 


OUR  INLAND   PLEASURE-PLACES. 


291 


Rrint  Orfpe,  Sayuenay  River. 


though  but  little  of  it  belongs  to 
the  territory  over  which  floats  the 
Stars  and  Stripes,  without  jour- 
neying down  its  broad  expanse 
to  the  mouth  of  the  Saguenay. 
Taking  a  steamer  up  the  latter, 
we  must  not  fail  to  get  a  rapid 
glimpse  of  a  river  which  is  quite 
exceptional  in  the  character  of  its 
scenery,  though  there  is  a  deep 

tinge  of  gloom  and  solemnity  hi  these  strangely  majestic  cliffs.  The  early  mariners 
were  so  terrified  by  its  massive,  desolate  banks,  that  they  did  not  dare  explore  it.  To 
them  it  was  a  river  of  perilous  currents,  soundless  depths,  fierce  storms,  threatening 
rocks,  destructive  whirlpools,  and  around  it  hung  sad  Indian  legends  that  only  deepened 
the  mystery  of  its  natural  surroundings.  The  whale  and  the  walrus  formerly  disported 
in  its  deep  tides,  but  these  have  long  since  disappeared,  and  now  lumber-rafts  coming 
down  from  the  wilderness,  or  the  paddles  of  excursion-steamboats,  alone  ruffle  its 
quiet.  The  river  is  formed  by  the  junction  of  two  outlets  of  St.  John's  Lake,  which 
lies  far  back  in  the  Canadian  wilderness.  In  its  upper  part  the  river  passes  over  cliffs 


292 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


in  several  magnificent  cascades, 
and  rushes  between  rocky  bluffs 
from  two  hundred  to  a  thousand 
feet  in  height,  and  for  a  distance 
of  sixty  miles  from  the  mouth 
the  width  is  not  less  than  a 
mile.  In  some  places  soundings 
are  not  found  at  three  hundred 
and  thirty  fathoms,  and  every- 
where the  water  is  exceedingly 
deep  and  inky -black  in  color. 
Fish  exist  here  in  great  num- 
bers, including  salmon,  sturgeon, 
pickerel,  and  trout.  The  river 
has  no  windings,  few  projecting 
bluffs,  and  no  farms  or  villages 
on  its  banks.  Nature  was  in  her 
most  stern  and  uncompromising 
mood,  and  lavished  no  smiling 
graces  on  this  offspring  of  earth- 
quake and  convulsion,  for  it  must 
have  been  in  a  monstrous  out- 
break that  a  mountain-chain  was 
cleft  in  twain,  and  the  deep  bed 
formed  for  the  passage  of  the 
black  waters  of  the  Saguenay. 
All  the  forms  are  rude,  awkward, 
and  gigantic,  with  no  greenery, 
no  grassy  meadows  in  sight,  only 
a  few  dwarfed  pines  standing 
among  the  rock -clefts.  It  is 
a  river  of  gloom,  branded  and 
blighted  by  primitive  desolation. 
Occasionally  a  ravine  breaks  the 
walls,  exposing  in  its  darkening 
hollow  the  white  foam  of  a  moun- 
tain-torrent, where  a  shabby,  un- 
kempt saw -mill  gives  some  hu- 
man sign.  Otherwise  all  is  sav- 
age and  silent.  No  birds  skim 
the  waters,  and  there  is  no  sug- 
gestion of  animal  life. 


OUR  INLAND   PLEASURE-PLACES.  293 

When  we  pass  Trinity  Rock  and  Cape  Eternity  there  is  ;i  flutter  of  pleasure 
among  the  passengers,  for  these  are  among  the  most  interesting  sights  of  the  voyage. 
These  two  monstrous  capes,  eighteen  hundred  feet  in  height,  flank  the  entrance  to 
Trinity  Bay,  one  of  the  estuaries  of  the  river.  Trinity,  named  from  the  three  dis- 
tinct peaks  on  its  northern  summit,  presents  a  face  of  fractured  granite,  which  appears 
almost  white  in  contrast  with  the  somber,  pine-clad  front  of  Eternity.  The  boat 
apparently  passes  within  a  few  yards ;  but  a  pebble  hurled  by  a  strong  arm  falls  far 
short  of  its  mark.  So  our  boat  toils  all  day  through  a  wilderness  of  bowlders, 
precipices,  and  mountains.  When  we  at  last  return  again  into  the  broad  and  cheerful 
St.  Lawrence,  it  is  like  emerging  from  subterranean  gloom  and  mystery  into  yellow 
sunshine ;  yet  there  is  a  fascination  about  the  black  river  and  its  giant  walls  which 
few  minds  can  resist,  though  the  effect  is  far  from  exhilarating.  The  somberness  of 
the  river  itself  is,  however,  partly  lightened  by  the  picturesque  variety  of  the  tourists 
and  travelers  on  the  boat.  American  tourists,  English  tourists,  Canadian  tourists, 
lumbermen  and  backwoodsmen  in  primitive  garb,  and  blanketed  Indians,  with  a  sprink- 
ling of  gayly  dressed  ladies,  make  an  amusing  collision  of  individualities,  which  rarely 
fails  to  produce  entertaining  incidents. 

Other  charming  summer  resorts,  scattered  through  the  great  length  and  breadth  of 
our  land,  are  almost  too  numerous  to  notice  with  more  than  a  passing  glance.  The 
various  springs  of  Virginia  are  old-established  watering-places,  delightful  in  their  scenic 
surroundings,  which  have  for  the  most  part  been  famous  for  the  last  half-century. 
Pennsylvania,  with  its  beautiful  rivers  and  fine  mountains,  has  many  a  lovely  spot 
which  capital  has  embellished  with  good  hotels,  and  where  Nature  has  lavished  her 
picturesque  gifts  with  no  sparing  hand  ;  and  even  in  the  West,  where  wealth  and 
civilization  are  more  recent,  popular  and  attractive  resorts  have  sprung  up  of  late 
years,  which  now  divert  the  interest  of  many  who  not  long  ago  regarded  the  summer 
trip  eastward  as  an  essential  part  of  the  year's  experience.  The  romantic  lake-region 
of  Wisconsin,  where  Nature  sports  in  her  most  idyllic  mood,  contains  many  delightful 
watering-places,  where  the  visitors,  if  they  do  not  go  to  the  lengths  of  fashionable 
dissipation  characteristic  of  many  Eastern  resorts,  find  every  resource  of  healthy  and 
rational  enjoyment. 

Of  all  the  central  summer  resorts  there  is  none,  perhaps,  so  well  known  as  Put- 
in-Bay, Lake  Erie,  a  few  miles  from  Sandusky.  This  bay  received  its  name  from 
the  fact  that  Commodore  Perry  put  in  there  with  his  fleet  before  and  after  the  battle 
of  Lake  Erie,  during  the  War  of  1812.  It  is  a  lovely  sheet  of  water,  with  little 
Gibraltar  Islet  nestled  in  its  crescent,  and  on  Put-in-Bay  Island  two  large,  fine  hotels 
stand  among  the  rich  vineyards.  So  mild  and  equable  is  the  climate  at  this  favored 
spot,  that  roses  bloom  in  October.  Several  of  the  islands  in  this  bay,  among  them 
Kelley's  Island,  are  famous  for  their  wine-culture,  and  many  of  the  best  and  most 
popular  American  wines  emanate  from  the  splendid  vineyards  whose  grapes  drink  in 
the  golden  sunshine  of  this  secluded  nook.  Here,  in  the  shining  autumn,  when  the 
long  aisles  are  full  of  vintage-gatherers,  and  the  trellises  are  heavy  with  purple 


294 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


bunches,  when  the  little  steamers  go  away  loaded  with  grapes,  and  the  presses  in  the 
wine-houses  crush  out  their  juice  by  day  and  by  night,  the  islands  are  like  an  enchanted 
land,  watching  the  autumn  out  and  the  winter  in  with  light-hearted  joyousness.  The 
water  is  still  and  blue,  the  colored  trees  are  reflected  in  its  mirror,  a  golden  haze 
shines  over  the  near  islands,  and  a  purple  shadow  reflects  on  those  afar. 

Owing  to  the  mildness  and  salubrity  of  the  climate,  the  season  lasts  much  longer 
here  than  in  many  other  resorts,  and  many  linger  toward  the  very  edge  of  winter,  to 
enjoy  the  merry  vintage-season. 


Kelly's  Island,  Lake  £rie. 


iyht-ho<tw, 


THE  GREAT  LAKES. 


Buffalo,  the  head  of  our  inland  seas — The  historic  interest  of  Lake  Erie — Cleveland,  Toledo,  and  Sandusky — Lake 
Huron— The  Straits  and  Island  of  Maekinae— The  western  shore  of  Lake  Michigan— Chicago  and  Milwaukee — 
The  situation  and  grandeur  of  Lake  Superior— The  Pictured  Rocks ;  the  varied  wonders  of  its  shores — History 
and  legend— The  Hudson  Bay  Company— Mining  on  Lake  Superior. 

THE  five  great  sister  lakes  of  America,  the  most  extensive  inland  seas  in  the 
world,  which  join  hands  from  Minnesota  to  the  ocean,  pouring  their  waters  through 
St.  Lawrence  River  to  the  sea,  have  all  distinguishing  characteristics  of  scenery  and 
suggestion.  Thus.  Lake  Superior  is  the  most  mysterious  of  the  chain,  its  northern 
shores  being  even  now  only  half  explored  ;  and  strange  tales  of  gold  and  silver,  rubies 
and  amethysts,  copper  and  tin,  are  even  yet  brought  down  by  the  fur-traders  and  hunt- 
ers from  its  remote  shores.  Lake  Michigan,  with  its  sea-green  waters,  its  islands,  its 
shifting  fogs,  and  its  unsurpassed  straits  of  Maekinae,  is  the  most  beautiful.  The 
blue  Huron,  with  its  pellucid  depths,  wild  shores,  and  deep  woodland  solitudes,  is  the 
most  romantic.  The  charm  of  the  placid  Ontario  is  entirely  dulled  by  the  sublimi- 


296  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

ties  of  Niagara  Falls  and  the  picturesque  loveliness  of  the  Thousand  Islands  of  the 
St.  Lawrence,  with  both  of  which  it  is  in  close  proximity  ;  but  it  has  the  prosaic 
advantage  of  being  the  safest  of  the  lakes,  a  feature  which  the  mariner  duly  enjoys. 
Lake  Erie  has,  aside  from  any  beauty  of  scenery,  the  most  historic  interest.  Its 
relics,  -antiquities,  and  battles,  fill  an  important  place  in  the  records  of  both  our 
colonial  and  national  life.  The  lake  has  its  heroes  and  sayings  famous  all  over  the 
land.  Pontiac's  spirit  haunts  the  mouth  of  the  Detroit  River ;  Tecumseh  flits  through 
the  woods  on  shore  ;  the  name  of  Perry  is  associated  with  the  Western  Islands ;  and 
the  memory  of  Mad  Anthony  Wayne  hangs  over  Presque  Isle,  now  Erie.  It  was 
on  the  north  shore  of  Lake  Erie  that  Tecumseh,  bidding  a  despairing  farewell  to  his 
British  allies,  avowed  his  resolution  to  lay  his  bones  on  the  battle-field  without  re- 
treating. It  was  at  Put-in-Bay  that  Commodore  Perry  wrote  his  famous  dispatch, ' 
"We  have  met  the  enemy,  and  they  are  ours."  At  Presque  Isle  Mad  Anthony 
Wayne,  before  going  into  the  fight,  gave  his  laconic  field-order  for  the  day  to  his 
aide,  "Charge  the  d — d  rascals  with  the  bayonet!" 

Lake  Erie  is  two  hundred  and  forty  miles  long,  with  a  mean  width  of  forty  miles, 
and  is  two  hundred  and  four  feet  at  its  greatest  depth.  It  is  shallow  compared  with 
the  other  lakes,  and  the  difference  is  well  expressed  in  the  saying,  "The  surplus  wa- 
ters poured  from  the  deep  basins  of  Superior,  Michigan,  and  Huron,  flow  across  the 
plate  of  Erie  into  the  deep  bowl  of  Ontario."  It  is  the  most  dangerous  of  the  lakes, 
from  its  liability  to  sudden  storms  and  its  short,  chopping  waves,  its  insecure  harbors, 
and  huge  sand-bars  off  the  mouths  of  its  rivers.  All  the  vessels  navigating  the  lake 
are  drawn  into  port  by  tugs,  and  the  scene  of  confusion  and  turmoil  in  the  lake- 
ports  is  as  great  as  in  the  harbor  of  New  York  itself. 

The  shores  of  Lake  Erie  are  wooded,  rising  in  many  places  sixty  feet  above  the 
water.  Through  this  barrier  the  brooks  and  streams  pour  down  in  ravines,  and  the 
banks  are  full  of  springs  and  quicksands.  The  water  is  variable  in  color,  according 
to  the  direction  of  the  wind — now  green,  now  blue,  now  a  dull,  dirty  brown.  Mirage 
is  seen  on  the  lake  at  times,  but  fog  rarely,  unless  it  be  that  soft  haze  of  twilight 
through  which  the  vessels  steal  by,  resembling  so  many  phantom-ships.  In  winter 
come  ice-fields,  hummocks,  and  floes,  while  above  them  glitter  the  spears  and  banners 
of  the  aurora  in  splendid  array.  The  name  of  the  lake  was  derived  from  the  Indian 
people  first  discovered  by  the  Jesuit  missionaries  two  centuries  ago.  They  were  known 
as  the  Eries,  or  tribe  of  the  Cat,  and,  though  they  were  afterward  exterminated  by 
the  powerful  Iroquois  Confederacy,  they  transmitted  their  name  to  after-times.  The 
city  of  Buffalo  takes  its  title  from  the  American  bison,  which,  as  late  as  1720,  roamed 
along  the  shore  in  great  herds.  The  town  was  first  settled  in  1801,  though  the 
neighboring  post  of  Niagara  was  founded  by  the  French  under  La  Salle  in  1769,  pre- 
vious to  which  time  there  had  been  a  few  hunters  and  fur-traders,  who  had  a  little 
stockade-fort  here,  and  lived  a  perilous  life  amid  the  hostile  Indians.  Buffalo  made 
considerable  progress  before  1812  ;  but  in  the  war  of  that  year  it  was  burned  to  the 
ground  by  the  British.  When  peace  was  declared  the  village  was  rebuilt,  and  in  1832 


THE  GREAT  LAKE8. 


297 


it  took  its  place,  ranking  as  the  third  city  in  the  State.  The  Buffalo  of  to-day  is  a 
large,  bright,  busy  town,  with  broad  streets  of  well-built  residences  and  business-blocks. 
It  possesses  a  driving-park,  and  has  annual  races ;  it  has  its  club-houses,  its  brilliant 
amateur  theatricals,  and  well-supported  theatre.  But  the  most  noticeable  feature  of 
Buffalo  is  its  method  of  handling  grain  in  bulk  by  means  of  elevators.  It  is  true 
that  Chicago  and  Milwaukee  are  no  less  well  supplied  with  these  monster  appliances, 
and  that  the  city  of  New  York  necessarily  has  also  an  extensive  elevator  system.  But 
the  multiplicity  of  interests  is  so  great  in  New  York'  that  the  traveler  rarely  notices 
the  grain-elevators,  which  are  situated  far  away  from  the  general  track  of  observation, 


:/,    B'l/llln. 

and  it  is  at  Buffalo  that  the  westward-bound  tourist  is  first  led  to  study  this  won- 
derful plan  of  loading  and  unloading  vessels  and  cars.  The  wooden  monsters  who 
perform  this  work  stand  with  long  trunks  and  high  heads  on  the  banks  of  the  river, 
waiting  for  their  prey.  When  the  vessels  and  propellers  laden  with  the  spoil  of  West 
ern  harvest-fields  are  brought  up  to  the  wharves,  swiftly  out  of  the  long  neck  comes 
the  trunk  of  the  elephantine  monster,  and,  plunging  deep  down  into  the  hold  of  the 
craft,  it  sucks  out  the  grain  till  the  last  kernel  is  discharged.  Within  this  trunk  are 
two  divisions ;  in  one  the  troughs  full  of  grain  pass  upon  a  pliable  band,  in  the  other 
they  pass  down  empty.  In  the  hold  of  the  vessel  or  propeller  are  men  who  shovel 


298  OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 

the  grain  forward  toward  these  troughs,  so  that  they  may  always  go  up  full ;  and  in 
the  granary  of  the  elevator  above  are  men  who  regulate  the  flow  of  the  grain  into 
the  shute,  and  cause  it  to  measure  itself  on  a  self-registering  apparatus,  the  whole 
being  adjusted  by  the  touch  of  a  finger.  If  the  grain  is  to  go  eastward  by  canal,  the 
canal-boat  waits  on  the  other  side.  A  man  opens  another  door,  and  another  trunk 
is  run  down,  through  which  the  grain  swiftly  passes  into  its  new  receptacle.  Most 
Americans  pass  by  these  wonderful  savers  of  labor  with  indifference,  for  they  are 
accustomed  to  them  ;  but  to  foreigners  they  are  objects  of  the  greatest  curiosity. 
Mr.  Anthony  Trollope,  the  English  novelist,  refers  to  them  in  the  following  language : 

"  An  elevator  is  as  ugly  a  monster  as  has  yet  been  produced.  In  uncouthness  of 
form  it  outdoes  those  obsolete  old  brutes  who  used  to  roam  about  the  semi-aqueous 
world  and  live  a  most  uncomfortable  life,  with  their  great  hungry  stomachs  and  huge 
unsatisfied  maws.  Rivers  of  corn  and  wheat  pass  through  these  monsters  night  and 
day ;  and  all  this  wheat  which  passes  through  Buffalo  comes  loose  in  bulk  ;  nothing 
is  known  of  sacks  and  bags.  To  any  spectator  in  Buffalo  this  becomes  a  matter  of 
course  ;  but  this  should  be  explained,  as  we  in  England  are  not  accustomed  to  see 
wheat  traveling  in  this  open,  unguarded,  and  plebeian  manner.  Wheat  with  us  is 
aristocratic,  and  travels  always  in  its  private  carriage." 

Buffalo  stands  openly  and  boldly  at  the  eastern  end  of  Lake  Erie,  not  on  a  sand- 
bank, like  Cleveland ;  nor  back  on  a  bay,  as  do  Toledo  and  Sandusky ;  nor  up  a 
river,  like  Detroit.  It  catches  every  gale  and  breeze  from  the  blue  waters  of  Erie, 
and  glimpses  of  the  sparkling,  dancing  waves  may  be  had  from  every  broad  street. 
The  harbor  is  one  of  the  largest  on  the  lake,  but  it  is  often  the  last  gathering-place 
for  the  ice,  and  the  last  to  yield  to  the  breath  of  spring.  So  inland  transportation 
sometimes  waits  a  week  or  two  for  the  clearing  of  Buffalo  Harbor. 

At  first,  after  leaving  Buffalo,  we  find  the  lake-shore  bleak  and  monotonous,  only 
sand-dunes  and  unimpressive  banks,  with  here  and  there  a  village  or  growing  city, 
with  nothing  to  mark  them  but  mere  prosaic  prosperity.  When  we  reach  the  bor- 
der line  of  New  York,  there  is  an  agreeable  change.  Here  begins  what  is  called  the 
"  Triangle,"  a  stout  elbow  of  land  which  Pennsylvania  pushes  out  to  vindicate  her 
right  to  a  lake-port.  In  this  triangle  is  the  harbor  of  Presque  Isle,  now  Erie,  one 
of  the  earliest  of  military  posts  on  the  lake.  The  situation  of  Erie  is  picturesque, 
owing  to  the  beauty  of  its  bay  and  outlying  island.  The  French  erected  a  fort  here 
as  early  as  1753,  and  gave  it  the  name  of  Presque  Isle,  making  it  one  of  the  chain  of 
works  designed  to  connect  the  St.  Lawrence  with  "  La  Belle  Riviere,"  as  they  called 
the  Ohio.  In  1760  the  fort  surrendered  to  the  English,  and  a  few  years  later  it,  in 
common  with  nearly  the  whole  line  of  frontier  posts,  fell  in  the  great  Indian  out- 
break which  burst  like  a  thunder-bolt  on  the  extensive  lake  chain  of  settlements. 
The  present  town  was  incorporated  in  1805.  In  its  bay  Commodore  Perry  built  and 
equipped  the  fleet  with  which  he  fought  out  the  great  victory  of  Lake  Erie,  having 
in  seventy  days  from  the  time  the  trees  were  cut  and  hauled  to  the  water's  edge  con- 
structed his  squadron  of  ships.  The  remains  of  Perry's  flag-ship,  the  St.  Lawrence. 


THE   GREAT  LAKES. 


299 


now  lie  in  Erie  Harbor,  and  the  old  embankments  of  the  French  fort  may  still  be 
traced  on  the  bank  just  outside  the  town.  Erie  is  a  very  thriving  place,  being  the 
outlet  of  the  coal  and  iron  district  of  Western  Pennsylvania. 

All  along  the  coast  we  now  observe  picturesque  light-house  towers  built  on  lonely 
islets  and  rocky  ledges,  which  stand  as  pillars  of  fire  by  night  to  warn  the  lake- 
mariner  of  a  treacherous  coast.  Passing  the  Pennsylvania  line  we  reach  the  Western 
Reserve  of  Ohio,  as  it  is  called,  where  Eastern  emigration  first  began  to  settle  in 
the  Buckeye  State.  This  became  the  favorite  locality  for  New-Englander  settlers, 
and  so  great  became  the  mania  for  emigration  that,  to  cure  it,  all  manner  of  means 
were  used.  Among  them  was  a  caricature,  referring  to  the  effects  of  fever  and  ague. 


-• -<-f- 

Mouth  of  Uuyuhoga  River,  Cleveland. 

One  represented  a  plump,  smiling  man  on  a  sleek  horse,  with  the  motto,  "  I  am 
going  to  Ohio "  ;  the  other  showing  the  same  man,  cadaverous  to  the  last  degree, 
and  leading  a  lean  horse,  with  the  satirical  device,  "  I  have  been  to  Ohio  ! "  But  the 
region  thrived  remarkably,  and  is  now  one  of  the  most  wealthy  and  prosperous  por- 
tions of  the  country. 


300 


OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 


Cleveland  is  generally  conceded  to  be  the  most  beautiful  city  on  the  Great  Lakes. 
It  lies  on  both  sides  of  the  Cuyahoga  River,  a  narrow,  crooked  stream,  which  flows 
through  a  deep  va_lley  into  the  lake,  leaving  on  both  sides  the  bluffs  whose  shaded 
streets  have  gained  the  name  of  "Forest  City."  The  houses  are  embowered  in  foliage, 
and  it  almost  seems  like  a  city  built  in  a  wood.  In  the  valley  of  the  river  is  situated 


Lake  Erie,  from  Bl'ilf,  Mouth 


Ricrr. 


a  dense  mass  of  iron-mills,  lumber-yards,  oil-refineries,  and  other  factories  and  busi- 
ness-places. From  above  only  the  wreaths  of  smoke  and  the  tips  of  masts  betray 
what  is  occurring  on  the  flat.  The  long  avenues  on  the  bluffs  stretch  away  in  miles 
of  pleasant  residences,  gardens,  velvet  lawns,  vines,  and  flowers.  Each  house  is  sur- 
rounded witli  greenery,  and  many  of  the  mansions  seen  out  of  town  would  be  called 
elegant  country-seats.  Even  in  its  central  square,  with  its  post-office,  court-house, 
business  blocks,  and  horse-cars,  there  is  an  air  of  leisure. 


THE   GREAT  LAKES.  301 

Stepping  from  the  trim  and  beautiful  rut*  in  urbe  above  to  the  verge  of  the  hill, 
we  look  down  on  Cleveland  at  work — Cleveland  soiled  with  grime  and  sweat.  Over  the 
oily,  crooked  river  wind  heavy-laden  vessels,  drawn  by  puffing  tugs,  and  every  variety 
of  lake-craft,  from  the  scow  to  the  large  side-wheel  steamboat.  Cleveland  is  famous  for 
its  oil-refineries,  which  line  the  river  for  miles,  and  the  products  of  which  are  sent 
to  every  portion  of  the  world.  While  the  population  is  largely  made  up  of  New- 
Englanders,  there  is  also  an  important  German  element.  One  of  the  early  land-holders 
wrote  as  follows  in  1835  :  "  If  I  make  the  contract  for  thirty  thousand  acres,  I  ex- 
pect to  send  you  with  all  speed  fifteen  or  twenty  families  of  prancing  Dutchmen." 
This  Teutonic  emigration  must  have  begun  early,  for  the  city  has  miles  of  thriving 
vineyards,  flowers,  wine,  dancing,  and  music,  which  never  came  from  Puritan  stock. 
Along  the  lake -shore  are  many  German  gardens,  and  thither  the  people  resort  on 
summer  nights,  to  sit  on  the  grassy  slopes,  drink  wine  and  beer,  and  watch  the  glory 
of  the  lake  sunsets. 

The  shore  becomes  more  and  more  picturesque  as  we  proceed  westward  from 
Cleveland,  the  banks  are  high  and  precipitous,  and  the  streams  come  rushing  down 
in  falls  and  rapids.  Rocky  River  is  about  seven  miles  from  the  city,  flowing  through 
a  deep  gorge  between  high  cliffs,  that  jut  boldly  into  the  lake,  and  offer  a  noble 
prospect,  an  extensive  unbroken  view  of  the  lake.  Far  away  on  the  green  curve  of 
the  eastern  shore  glitter  the  spires  of  Cleveland,  and  far  away  toward  the  north 
stretches  the  glorious  expanse  of  water,  on  the  horizon -line  of  which  faintly  gleam 
dots  of  white  sails,  which  are  still  in  the  middle  of  the  lake,  with  miles  of  blue 
water  beyond.  The  silent  sands  of  the  shore  hereabout  have  been  a  most  important 
witness  of  an  interesting  fragment  of  history. 

When  the  great  Indian  hero,  Pontiac,  made  his  successful  attack  on  all  the  lake 
forts  in  1763,  the  post  of  Detroit  made  a  most  determined  resistance,  and  held  out 
through  months  of  suspense  and  fighting.  In  the  autumn  an  expedition  under  Major 
Wilkins  was  fitted  out  at  Albany,  to  relieve  the  far-distant  garrison.  After  a  most 
toilsome  journey,  and  constant  fighting  with  hostile  Indians  along  the  route,  the 
soldiers  reached  the  present  site  of  Buffalo.  The  officers  knew  nothing  of  the  treach- 
erous nature  of  Erie,  and  embarked  in  bateaux,  high  in  spirits,  for  the  brilliant  waters 
and  golden  haze  promised  a  speedy  voyage  and  a  successful  result,  as  each  heart 
burned  witli  the  hope  of  saving  the  beleaguered  garrison  from  the  tender  mercies  of 
Pontiac.  But  suddenly  there  arose  a  great  storm,  in  which  twenty  bateaux,  most  of 
the  field-pieces,  all  of  the  ammunition,  seventy  men,  and  many  of  the  officers,  includ- 
ing the  surgeon  of  the  regiment,  were  lost.  When  the  disheartened  survivors  reached 
the  shore  they  turned  back  and  made  their  way  to  Fort  Schlosser,  on  the  Niagara 
River,  without  attempting  in  their  crippled  state  to  reach  the  Detroit  garrison.  The 
locality  of  the  shipwreck  was  not  known  until  a  few  years  ago,  when  there  were  found 
at  the  mouth  of  Rocky  River  several  bayonets,  swords  (among  which  was  one  most 
elaborately  finished  with  guard  and  lion's-head  hilt  of  solid  silver),  an  amputation- 
knife,  and  other  unmistakable  relics  of  the  lost  expedition. 


302  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

A  short  distance  west  the  lake  has  another  store-house  of  relics.  Here,  in  1764, 
Bradstreet's  expedition  was  also  wrecked  during  an  autumn  storm.  The  beach  again 
has  spoken,  and  located  an  historic  event.  Portions  of  the  bateaux  have  been  found, 
cannon-balls,  a  stack  of  bayonets,  a  number  of  perfect  musket-barrels,  silver  spoons, 
and  not  a  few  antique  coins.  Every  storm  brings  fresh  relics  ashore,  and  they  are 
continually  captured  in  fishermen's  nets.  After  the  storm  and  wreck,  the  American 
soldiers,  under  General  Israel  Putnam,  were  left  to  find  their  way  by  land  to  Niagara, 
four  hundred  miles  away,  through  a  wilderness  crossed  by  rivers  and  swamps,  and 
swarming  with  hostile  savages.  The  soldiers  suffered  severely,  and  many  of  them 
died  before  reaching  the  protection  of  old  Fort  Schlosser. 

West  of  Rocky  River  we  find  three  rivers — the  Black,  Vermilion,  and  Huron — 
flowing  into  the  lake  through  ravines  of  great  beauty.  The  first-named  river  at  its 
mouth  falls  over  a  rocky  ledge,  forty-five  feet  in  height,  in  two  streams,  and  its  whole 
course  is  full  of  picturesque  beauties,  making  it  remarkable  among  the  Lake  Erie 
tributaries,  which  are  for  the  most  part  quiet  and  tame,  oozing  through  sand-bars 
into  the  lake.  Beyond  the  Black  River  stretch  what  are  known  as  the  "fire-lands," 
which  were  set  apart  for  the  aid  of  sufferers  by  fire  in  New  London,  Norwalk,  and 
Fairfield,  Connecticut,  that  State  then  owning  the  Western  Reserve.  An  amusing 
story  is  told  of  the  determined  efforts  of  the  early  settlers  at  sociability  under  the 
conditions  of  privation  which  surrounded  them.  A  fresh  family  having  arrived,  the 
elite  of  the  "fire-lands"  gave  them  a  visit  of  welcome.  The  hostess  prepared  to 
honor  them  with  a  feast,  but  she  only  had  one  fire-proof  utensil — an  old,  broken 
bake-pan.  With  this  she  set  to  work.  First  pork  was  fried  in  it  to  get  lard  ;  then 
doughnuts  were  cooked  in  the  lard  ;  thirdly,  short-cakes  were  made  in  it ;  fourthly,  it 
was  used  as  a  bucket  wherewith  to  draw  water ;  fifthly,  the  water  was  boiled  in  it ; 
and  finally  the  tea  was  made  in  the  same  useful  vessel,  and  the  guests  pronounced 
the  repast  excellent.  This  very  well  illustrates  the  difficulties  under  which  the  infant 
civilization  of  the  West  was  nurtured  into  its  present  greatness  and  stature. 

Sandusky,  the  "Bay  City,"  has  spread  before  it  a  charming  view.  It  is  not  a 
busy  commercial  place  like  Buffalo,  nor  has  it  the  concentration  of  wealth  which  has 
made  Cleveland  a  city  of  splendid  residences.  But  the  lovely  bay,  with  its  gentle, 
sloping  shores  and  islands,  the  river  sweeping  past  the  town,  the  green  peninsula 
smiling  with  vineyards,  and  the  expanse  of  the  broad  lake  beyond,  dotted  with  wine- 
islands,  suggest  the  characteristics  of  the  serene  and  thriving  little  lake  city.  Here 
one  is  not  called  on  to  calculate  the  profits  on  grain,  coal,  iron,  or  oil,  but  the  poet 
or  artist  might  find  a  home  on  these  blooming  shores,  and  ask  no  fairer  prospect. 

The  beautiful  country  around  Sandusky  was  once  the  resort  of  a  remarkable 
Indian  people,  known  as  the  "Neutral  Nation,"  a  confederacy  whose  habits  were  so 
peaceful  and  benign  as  to  stand  out  in  amazing  contrast  to  those  of  their  red  breth- 
ren. Two  "cities  of  refuge"  stood  on  the  Sandusky  River,  as  asylums  for  all  fugi- 
tives, and  these  were  guarded  by  armed  bands  of  the  Neutral  Nation,  who  used  their 
prowess  not  for  bloodshed  and  butchery,  but  for  humanity's  sake.  All  who  crossed 


THE   GREAT  LAKES.  303 

their  boundaries  were  safe  from  pursuit,  and  no  one  was  denied  who  came  in  peace. 
This  sacred  soil  was  never  reddened,  this  pledge  never  violated,  till  the  whites  came, 
and  before  their  fatal  presence  the  Neutral  Nation  gradually  faded  away. 

Sailing  out  from  the  bay  we  pass  unwieldy  lumber-boats  coming  down  from  the 
pine-woods  of  Huron,  and  a  little  fleet  of  fishing-smacks,  and  reach  a  group  of  isl- 
ands, fifteen  or  twenty  in  number,  which  have  come  into  notice  recently,  on  account 
of  their  wine-production.  The  first  pioneers  very  naturally  preferred  the  solid  main- 
land, and  found  enough  to  do  in  forcing  their  forest-fields  to  give  them  sustenance 
without  encountering  the  perils  of  the  stormy  lake.  The  Wine  Islands,  on  which 
there  is  now  a  population  of  several  thousand  people,  were,  not  very  many  years  ago, 
only  vaguely  known,  and  their  earliest  inhabitants  were  fishermen,  attracted  by  the 
great  number  of  the  bass  which  have  given  name  to  a  portion  of  the  group,  or  by 
wreckers,  who  gained  a  precarious  and  questionable  livelihood  by  plundering  the  ves- 
sels driven  on  them  or  the  adjoining  shore  by  the  lake-storms.  Kelley's  Island,  of 
which  we  give  an  illustration  on  page  294,  is  the  largest  of  the  American  islands,  and 
contains  about  twenty-eight  hundred  acres.  There  is  here  an  Indian  writing  on  the 
rock,  which  is  said  to  be  the  best  sculptured  and  preserved  inscription  in  the  West. 
The  ancient  tribe  of  the  Eries  had  a  fortified  retreat  here,  whose  remains  can  still  be 
traced,  and,  according  to  the  best  opinions,  the  inscription  spoken  of  above  refers  to 
them  and  to  their  destruction  by  the  Iroquois. 

The  historic  interest  attached  to  Put-in-Bay  Island,  of  which  previous  mention 
has  been  made  (page  293),  as  a  pleasant  summer  resort,  suggests  a  brief  recurrence  to 
the  events  which  made  the  name  of  Perry  prominent  among  our  naval  heroes.  After 
having  built  his  war-ships  in  the  harbor  of  Presque  Isle,  the  young  commodore  made 
sail  for  the  head  of  the  lake,  and  anchored  in  Put-in-Bay,  opposite  the  British  fleet, 
which  lay  under  the  guns  of  Fort  Maiden,  on  the  Canadian  shore.  Here  he  remained 
for  several  days,  watching  the  movements  of  the  enemy.  At  length,  on  the  10th  of 
September,  about  sunrise  in  the  morning,  the  hostile  fleet  appeared  off  Put-in-Bay. 
Perry  made  sail,  but  it  was  some  hours  before  the  combatants  came  within  reach  of 
each  other's  guns,  owing  to  the  lightness  of  the  winds.  Slowly  they  drifted  toward 
that  death-lock  which  was  to  give  such  a  splendid  victory  to  the  Americans.  On  his 
flag-ship,  the  Lawrence,  Perry  had  hoisted  a  flag  inscribed  with  the  dying  words  of 
Captain  Lawrence,  "Don't  give  up  the  ship!"  Insignificant  as  this  naval  contest 
may  be,  in  view  of  modern  ironclads,  torpedoes,  and  guns  with  a  range  of  seven 
miles,  it  put  new  courage  into  a  dispirited  frontier,  and  gave  the  United  States  a 
permanent  and  undisputed  sway  over  Lake  Erie. 

Owing  to  the  superior  range  of  the  English  guns,  and  the  impetuosity  of  Perry, 
who  sailed  far  in  advance  of  his  fleet,  the  Lawrence  was  exposed  for  hours  to  the 
whole  fire  of  the  British  ships,  till  she  was  completely  disabled,  and  her  decks  fairly 
ran  with  blood.  The  men  worked  their  guns  with  undaunted  spirit,  till  all  were 
killed  or  wounded,  and  the  guns  were  dismounted.  At  length,  about  two  o'clock,  a 
fresh  breeze  sprang  up,  and  the  Niagara  came  to  the  assistance  of  her  suffering  con- 


304 


OUR    NATIVE  LAND. 


sort.  Perry  instantly  took  his  colors  under  his  arm,  and  crossed  in  an  open  boat, 
amid  the  fiercest  fire  of  the  enemy,  to  the  fresh  vessel,  which  he  then  made  his  flag- 
ship. Beaching  the  Niagara  in  safety,  he  renewed  the  light,  brought  the  other  ves- 
sels up  into  line,  or- 
dered a  general  engage- 
ment, broke  the  British 
line,  and  kept  up  his 
fire  till  all  the  British 
vessels  struck  their  col- 
ors. Commodore  Bar- 
clay, the  British  com- 
mander, who  had  lost 
an  arm  at  Trafalgar 
under  Nelson,  was  se- 
verely wounded.  Af- 
ter the  battle  the  dead 
were  buried,  and  the 
officers  of  both  sides 
were  laid  in  a  com- 
mon grave,  near  the 
beach  of  the  island,  the 
mound  being  marked 
by  an  ancient  willow- 
tree.  There  is  a  com- 
memorative statue  of 
Perry  at  Cleveland,  and 
all  the  islands  off  San- 
dusky  are  associated 
with  this  historic  tra- 
dition. In  Ohio,  one 
county,  four  towns,  and 
twenty-four  townships, 
recall  the  name  of  the 
gallant  American  com- 
mander. On  Gibral- 
tar Island,  which  lies 
in  the  hollow  of  Put- 
in-Bay, there  is  a  bold 

headland   where   it  is  said   Perry  used   to  go  for  the  purpose  of  sweeping  the  wide 
horizon  with  his  glass,  in  expectation  of  his  coming  enemy. 

The   Wine   Islands  are   now  known   in  a  more  peaceful  connection.      Their  vine- 
yards have  become  celebrated,  and   many  of  the  most  excellent  and  palatable  Ameri- 


Perry1*  Lookout,  Gibraltar  Maud. 


THE  GREAT  LAKES.  305 

can  wines  are  made  here.  The  inhabitants  are  mostly  Germans  from  the  Ehine 
region,  and  the  skill  which  they  have  brought  to  bear  on  their  congenial  occupa- 
tion has  wrought  surprising  results,  and  promises  still  more  important  ones  in  the 
future. 

As  we  proceed  westward  from  Sandusky,  we  enter  on  what  is  called  the  Black 
Swamp,  a  district  one  hundred  and  twenty  miles  long,  by  forty  in  width.  Its  name 
still  clings  to  it,  from  the  early  pioneer  dread  of  a  magnificent  stretch  of  dark  forest, 
and  swamp  of  almost  impenetrable  wildness  and  luxuriance.  Its  gloomy  depths  were 
the  haunts  of  wild  beasts  who  carried  terror  to  the  early  settlers,  and  even  to  a  com- 
paratively recent  time  it  was  not  made  serviceable  to  the  uses  of  man.  The  soil  of 
this  region  is  now  the  richest  garden  of  a  rich  State,  and  fine  farms  and  thriving 
towns  and  villages  everywhere  abound.  The  principal  city  of  this  region  is  Toledo, 
which  stands  on  the  Maumee  River,  about  four  miles  from  Maumee  Bay.  The  coun- 
try south  of  Toledo  was  during  the  early  days  of  the  nation  a  fierce  battle-ground, 
where  Americans,  British,  and  Indians  met  in  repeated  conflict.  The  name  of  Mad 
Anthony  Wayne,  called  by  the  Indians  the  "Mad,"  because  he  "drives  and  tears 
everything  before  him,"  is  closely  associated  with  the  early  traditions  of  this  region. 
General  Wayne's  decisive  battle  against  the  Indians  was  fought  on  the  Maumee  in 
1794. 

A  few  miles  beyond  Maumee  Bay  the  coast  turns  sharply  to  the  north,  and  soon 
the  boundary-line  of  Michigan  is  passed.  The  eastern  end  of  Lake  Erie  comes  to  a 
point  at  the  place  where  Buffalo  is,  but  the  western  end  is  blunt  and  unyielding. 
The  Detroit  River  has  no  gate-way,  but  pours  at  once  into  the  lake  from  the  broad 
shore.  Though  its  mouth  is  clogged  with  islands,  there  is  nothing  to  indicate  the 
entrance  of  a  grand  strait.  The  northward  sloping  shore  of  Michigan,  sixty  miles  in 
length,  between  the  Ohio  boundary  and  the  city  of  Detroit,  is  a  green,  fertile  region, 
of  gentle  aspect,  with  numerous  little  rivers  flowing  through  it.  All  this  territory 
had  two  distinct  settlements,  the  more  ancient  having  been  French.  It  was  not  till 
1830  that  the  tide  of  American  immigration  freely  flowed  into  Michigan  Territory ; 
and  Ohio  had  a  settled  population  of  colonists  from  New  England,  and  had  sent  her 
pioneers  into  Illinois  and  Indiana.  The  Detroit  shore  remained  wholly  French.  The 
unextinguished  Indian  titles,  the  foreign  habits  of  the  French  settlers,  and  the  gloomy 
barrier  of  the  Black  Swamp,  kept  American  settlers  out  of  this  beautiful  land.  The 
little  cabins  of  the  French  lined  the  river-banks,  though  the  forest  half  a  mile  back 
was  unbroken  and  primeval.  They  were  a  gay,  contented  race,  who  lived  on  terms 
of  amity  with  the  Indians,  and  never  in  their  enjoyment  of  the  day  thought  of  the 
morrow. 

There  are  fifteen  islands  within  the  first  twelve  miles  of  the  Detroit  River.  Father 
Hennepin,  who  passed  up  the  strait  in  1679,  writes  in  the  following  enthusiastic 
terms  :  "  The  islands  are  the  finest  in  the  world  ;  the  strait  is  finer  than  Niagara  ; 
the  banks  are  vast  meadows ;  and  the  prospect  is  terminated  with  some  hills  crowned 

with  vineyards  ;  trees  bearing  good  fruit,  groves  and  forests  so  well  disposed  that  one 
20 


306 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


would  think  Nature  alone  could 
not  have  made,  without  the  aid 
of  art,  so  charming  a  prospect." 
The  river  has  neither  foam,  rap- 
ids, nor  mountains ;  it  has  not 
that  sweep  to  the  sea,  that  in- 
coming of  the  salt  tide,  that  give 
the  ocean  -  rivers  their  majesty  ; 
yet  it  is  a  grand  strait,  full  to 
the  very  brim  of  its  green  shores, 
calm,  deep,  and  beautiful. 

The  city  of  Detroit,  with  the 
exception  of  Mackinac,  the  first 
white  settlement  in  the  North- 
west, was  visited  by  the  French 
in  1610.  Permanent  settlement 
was  not  made  until  ninety -one 
years  later,  when  a  fort  was  built, 
and  named  after  the  French  colo- 
nial minister,  Ponchartrain,  whose 
name  is  also  perpetuated  in  Lou- 
isiana. Some  years  later  a  col- 
ony of  French  emigrants  came  out 
from  France,  who,  mingling  with 
the  Indians,  began  that  race  of 
half-breeds  whose  history  is  so  in- 
terlinked with  that  of  the  fur- 
trade.  Thus,  originally  organized 
as  a  French  military  and  trading 
post,  it  has  always  retained  some 
characteristics  which  to-day  set  it 
apart  from  the  other  lake  cities, 
in  its  French  customs  and  names. 
Down  the  strait,  in  the  early  days, 
came  twice  a  year  the  canoes  and 
bateaux,  laden  with  furs  from  the 
far  West  and  the  Red  River  of  the 
North.  Then  came  a  period  of 
jollity  and  revel,  music,  dancing, 
and  drinking,  ending  with  vows 
and  prayers  in  the  little  church. 
Then  Detroit  was  quiet  again  for 


THE   GREAT  LAKES.  307 

another  six  months.  In  1805  the  old  town  was  destroyed,  and  the  new  town  which 
arose  on  the  site  was  laid  out  with  more  regularity,  but  in  a  way  which  utterly 
destroyed  the  picturesqueness  and  quaintness  that  marked  the  old  French  settlement 
of  the  early  fur-trading  regime.  The  flag  flying  over  Detroit  has  been  changed  five 
times,  in  the  following  order :  French,  British,  American,  British,  American.  It  has 
been  the  scene  of  one  surrender,  twelve  massacres,  and  fifty  battles — a  grim  record  of 
historic  tragedies  which  few,  if  any,  other  American  places  can  show.  Detroit  was 
already  a  century  old  when  Cleveland  and  Buffalo  were  born. 

The  most  striking  figure  in  the  history  of  Detroit  is  that  of  Pontiac,  the  great 
Ottawa  chieftain,  and  probably  the  most  gifted  and  daring  of  all  the  Indian  leaders 
who  have  taken  part  in  our  history,  with  the  possible  exception  of  King  Philip,  in 
early  colonial  times.  This  warrior  and  statesman  of  the  red  race  possessed  an  astute- 
ness and  sagacity  which  would  have  been  most  noticeable  in  a  white  man.  He  suc- 
ceeded in  forming  a  powerful  alliance  between  tribes  which  had  been  life-long  foes, 
and  hurling  this  consolidated  force  against  the  English.  His  grand  scheme  was  to 
capture  by  a  simultaneous  attack  all  the  British  posts  in  the  West,  twelve  garrisoned 
forts,  extending  from  Niagara  to  Pittsburg,  along  the  lake-shore,  and  thence  to  the 
Mississippi.  Such  was  the  personal  influence  of  Pontiac  that  he  succeeded  in  uniting 
the  most  discordant  tribes,  and  carrying  out  his  plan.  Nine  posts  were  taken  on  the 
same  day  (May,  1763),  and  their  garrisons  massacred  to  a  man.  Detroit  made  a  suc- 
cessful resistance,  owing  to  the  warning  given  by  an  Indian  damsel,  but  it  would 
ultimately  have  fallen  into  the  hands  of  Pontiac,  had  not  a  letter  arrived  from  the 
French  commander-in-chief,  announcing  that  peace  had  been  declared  between  Great 
Britain  and  France,  and  ordering  him  to  suspend  hostilities. 

Above  the  city  the  Detroit  River  curves  to  the  eastward,  and  enters  Lake  St. 
Clair.  Here  we  see  long  lines  of  lumber-barges  with  their  tugs,  schooners  with  their 
raking  masts  leaning  far  over  under  a  cloud  of  canvas,  square-sail  brigs,  scows  with 
patched  yellow  canvas,  and  steamers — all  striving  with  their  best  heels  to  reach  the 
flats  through  whose  tortuous  channels  they  must  all  pass,  or  else  lie  at  anchor  till  the 
morning.  So  they  sail  on  till  they  reach  the  clear  waters  of  Lake  Huron,  in  whose 
pellucid  depths  fish  may  be  seen  swimming  hundreds  of  feet  below  the  surface. 

Lake  Huron,  including  Georgian  Bay,  the  latter  lying  wholly  within  Canadian  terri- 
tory, is  about  one  hundred  and  ninety  miles  wide,  by  two  hundred  and  eighty  miles  in 
length,  having  on  one  side  of  it  the  southern  peninsula  of  Michigan,  on  the  other 
Canada.  It  is  the  deepest  of  the  lakes,  the  average  depth  being  about  twelve  hun- 
dred feet,  while  in  some  parts  of  the  lake  soundings  have  not  been  reached  at  eighteen 
hundred  feet.  It  has  several  large  harbors  and  bays,  such  as  Saginaw  and  Thunder 
Bay,  but  for  the  most  part  the  whole  line  of  the  American  shore  is  singularly  un- 
protected and  exposed  to  the  severest  storms  at  certain  seasons  of  the  year.  The 
upper  or  northwestern  arm  of  Huron  is  connected  with  the  waters  of  Lake  Michigan 
by  the  Straits  of  Mackinac,  and  here  it  is  that  the  pleasure-seeker  or  traveler  finds 
one  of  the  most  interesting  and  lovely  parts  of  the  United  States.  In  traveling  along 


308  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

the  borders  of  the  Great  Lakes  we  find  that  the  cities  and  towns  which  thickly  stud 
the  shores  are  among  the  most  notable  examples  of  growth  and  progress  in  the  whole 
country.  The  universal  boast  on  the  great  fresh-water  seas  is,  "See  how  young  we 
are,  and  how  big  we  are  for  our  age  ! "  You  enter  a  city  of  one  hundred  thousand 
inhabitants.  "  Twenty  years  ago,  sir,  this  was  an  unbroken  wilderness,"  observes  the 
citizen,  as  he  takes  you  through  the  busy  streets  in  his  luxurious  carriage.  The 
steamer  stops  at  a  thriving  town  of  ten  thousand  people.  "Five  years  ago  there 
wasn't  so  much  as  a  shanty  here,"  says  the  hotel  -  keeper,  with  a  flourishing  wave  of 
his  hand  toward  the  clustering  houses  and  his  four -story  frame  caravansary,  decked 
out  in  shining  green  and  white.  Early,  some  bright  morning,  a  landing  is  made  at  a 
wood-station  ;  a  long  wharf,  a  group  of  unpainted  houses,  a  store,  and  several  saw- 
mills, compose  a  promising  settlement.  "  Six  months  ago,  mister,  there  warn't  even 
a  chip  on  this  yer  spot,"  says  a  bearded  giant,  sitting  on  a  wood-pile,  watching  the 
passengers  as  they  come  ashore. 

There  is  nothing  young,  however,  about  Mackinac,  nothing  new.  The  village,  at 
the  foot  of  the  cliff,  is  decayed  and  antiquated ;  the  fort,  on  the  height  above,  is 
white  and  crumbling  with  age ;  the  very  flag  is  tattered  ;  and,  once  beyond  this  fringe 
of  habitations  around  the  port,  there  is  no  trace  of  the  white  man  on  the  island  save 
one  farm-house  of  the  last  century,  and  a  ruin  on  the  western  shore.  There  is  no 
commercial  activity  at  Mackinac ;  the  business  life  of  the  village  died  out  with  the 
fur-trade ;  and  so  different  is  its  aspect  from  that  of  the  other  lake-towns,  no  matter 
how  small,  that  the  traveler  feels  as  though  he  was  walking  through  the  streets  of  a 
New- World  Pompeii. 

The  history  of  Mackinac  begins  with  the  early  voyages  of  Marqnette,  who  estab- 
lished a  school  for  the  education  of  Indian  youths  in  1C71.  Eight  years  later,  the 
daring  explorer,  Eobert  Cavalier  de  la  Salle,  sailed  through  the  straits  on  his  way  to 
the  Mississippi,  in  a  vessel  of  sixty  tons,  called  the  Griffin,  built  by  himself,  on  Lake 
Erie,  during  the  previous  spring.  He  stopped  at  old  Mackinac,  on  the  mainland  ; 
and  Hennepin,  the  historian  of  the  expedition,  describes  the  astonishment  of  the  In- 
dians on  seeing  the  Griffin,  the  first  vessel  that  passed  through  the  beautiful  straits. 
In  1688  a  French  officer,  Baron  la  Houtan,  visited  the  straits,  and  in  his  journal 
makes  the  first  mention  of  the  fur-trade:  "The  courriers  des  bais  have  a  settlement 
here,  this  being  a  depot  for  the  goods  obtained  from  the  south  and  west  savages, 
for  they  can  not  avoid  passing  this  way  when  they  go  to  the  seats  of  the  Illinese 
and  Oumamis,  and  to  the  river  of  Mississippi." 

In  1695  the  military  period  begins.  At  that  date  M.  de  la  Motte  Cadillac,  who 
afterward  founded  the  present  city  of  Detroit,  established  a  small  fort  on  the  straits. 
Then  came  contests  and  skirmishes,  not  unmingled  with  massacres  (for  the  Indians 
were  enlisted  on  both  sides),  and  finally  the  post  of  Mackinac,  together  with  all  the 
French  strongholds  on  the  lakes,  was  surrendered  to  the  English,  in  September,  1761. 

During  the  War  for  Independence  the  fort  was  established  in  its  present  site  on 
Mackinac  Island ;  and  the  stars  and  stripes,  superseding  the  cross  of  St.  George  and 


THE  GREAT  LAKES. 


309 


Scene  on  the  fihorf  of  Mackiiiac. 

the  lilies  of  the  Bourbons,  waved  for  a  time  peacefully  over  the  heights ;  but  the  War 
of  1812  began,  and  the  small  American  garrison  was  surprised  and  captured  by  the 
British,  under  Captain  Robarts,  who,  having  landed  at  the  point  still  known  as  the 
'•British  Landing,"  marched  across  the  island  to  the  gate  of  the  fort  and  forced  a 
surrender.  After  the  victory  of  Commodore  Perry,  on  Lake  Erie,  in  1813,  it  was 
determined  to  recapture  Port  Mackinac  from  the  British,  and  a  little  fleet  was  sent 


310  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

from  Detroit  for  that  purpose.  After  wandering  in  the  persistent  fogs  of  Lake 
Huron,  the  vessels  reached  the  straits,  and  a  brisk  engagement  began  in  the  channel, 
between  Bound  Island  and  Mackinac.  At  length  the  American  commander  decided  to 
try  a  land  attack,  and  forces  were  sent  on  shore,  under  command  of  Colonel  Crog- 
han  and  Major  Holmes.  They  disembarked  at  the  "  British  Landing,"  and  had  begun 
to  cross  the  island  when  the  British  and  Indians  met  them,  and  a  desperate  battle 
ensued  in  the  clearing  near  the  Dousman  farm-house.  The  enemy  had  the  advantage 
of  position  and  numbers,  and,  aided  by  their  innumerable  Indian  allies,  they  suc- 
ceeded in  defeating  the  gallant  little  band,  who  retreated  to  the  "  Landing,"  leaving 
a  number  killed  on  the  field,  among  them  Major  Holmes.  The  American  fleet 
cruised  around  the  island  for  some  time,  but  "  the  stars  in  their  courses  fought 
against  Sisera."  The  clumsy  vessels  could  do  nothing  against  the  winds  and  waves; 
and  not  until  the  conclusion  of  peace,  in  1814,  was  the  American  flag  again  hoisted 
over  the  Gibraltar  of  the  lakes. 

Points  on  the  Straits  of  Mackinac  began  to  be  stations  for  the  fur-trade  as  early 
as  1688,  but  the  constant  warfare  of  the  military  period  interfered  with  the  business. 
In  1809  John  Jacob  Astor  bought  out  the  existing  associations,  and  organized  the 
American  Fur  Company,  with  a  capital  of  two  millions.  For  forty  years  this  com- 
pany monopolized  the  fur-trade,  and  Mackinac  was  the  gayest  and  busiest  post  in  the 
chain — the  great  central  mart.  Here  were  the  supply-stores  for  the  outgoing  and  in- 
coming voyagewrs,  and  the  warehouses  for  the  goods  brought  from  New  York,  as  well 
as  for  the  furs  from  the  interior.  From  here  started  the  bateaux  on  their  long  jour- 
ney to  the  Northwest,  and  here,  once  or  twice  a  year,  came  the  returned  voyageurs, 
spending  their  gains  in  a  day,  with  the  gay  prodigality  of  their  race,  laughing,  sing- 
ing, and  dancing  with  the  pretty  half-breed  girls,  and  then  away  into  the  wilderness 
again.  The  old  buildings  of  the  Fur  Company  form  a  large  portion  of  the  present 
village  of  Mackinac.  The  warehouses  are,  for  the  most  part,  unused,  although  por- 
tions of  some  of  them  are  occupied  as  stores.  The  present  McLeod  House,  an  hotel 
on  the  north  street,  was  originally  erected  as  a  boarding-house  for  the  company's 
clerks,  in  1809.  These  were  Mackinac's  palmy  days ;  her  two  little  streets  were 
crowded  with  people,  and  her  warehouses  filled  with  merchandise.  All  the  traffic  of 
the  company  centered  here,  and  its  demands  necessitated  the  presence  of  men  of 
energy  and  enterprise,  some  of  the  oldest  and  best  business-men  of  the  Eastern  cities 
having  served  an  apprenticeship  in  the  little  French  village  under  the  cliff.  Here, 
also,  were  made  the  annual  Indian  payments,  when  the  neighboring  tribes  assembled 
by  thousands  on  the  island  to  receive  their  stipend. 

The  natural  scenery  of  Mackinac  is  charming.  The  geologist  finds  mysteries  in 
the  masses  of  calcareous  rock  dipping  at  unexpected  angles ;  the  antiquarian  feasts  his 
eyes  on  the  Druidical  circles  of  ancient  stones ;  the  invalid  sits  on  the  cliff's  edge,  in 
the  vivid  sunshine,  and  breathes  in  the  buoyant  air  with  delight,  or  rides  slowly  over 
the  old  military  roads,  with  the  spicery  of  cedars  and  juniper  alternating  with  the 
fresh  forest  odors  of  young  maples  and  beeches.  The  haunted  birches  abound,  and 


THE  GREAT  LAKES.  311 

on  the  crags  grow  the  weird  larches,  beckoning  with  their  long  fingers — the  most 
human  tree  of  all.  Bluebells,  on  their  hair-like  stems,  swing  from  the  rocks,  fading 
at  a  touch,  and  in  the  deep  woods  are  the  Indian  pipes,  but -the  ordinary  wild-flowers 
are  not  to  be  found.  Over  toward  the  British  Landing  stand  the  Gothic  spires  of  the 
blue-green  spruces,  and  now  and  then  an  Indian  trail  crosses  the  road,  worn  deep  by 
the  feet  of  the  red-men,  when  the  Fairy  Island  was  their  favorite  and  saured  resort. 

The  Arch  Rock,  one  of  the  curiosities  of  Mackinac.  is  a  natural  bridge,  one  hun- 
dred and  forty-five  feet  high,  by  less  than  three  feet  wide,  spannin.';  the  chasm  with 
airy  grace.  This  arch  has  been  excavated  by  the  action  of  the  weather  on  a  pro- 
jecting angle  of  the  limestone  cliff.  The  beds  forming  the  summit  of  the  arch  are 
cut  off  from  direct  connection  with  the  main  rock  by  a  narrow  gorge  of  no  'great 
depth.  The  portion  supporting  the  arch  on  the  north  side  and  the  curve  of  the 
arch  itself  are  comparatively  fragile,  and  can  not  long  resist  the  action  of  rains 
and  frosts,  which  in  this  latitude,  and  on  a  rock  thus  constituted,  produce  great 
ravages  every  season.  The  arch  is  peculiarly  beautiful  when  silvered  with  the  light 
of  the  moon,  and  hence  on  moonlight  nights  strangers  on  the  island  always  visit  it. 
Fairy  Arch  is  of  similar  formation  to  Arch  Eock,  and  lift?  from  the  sands  with  a 
grace  and  beauty  that  justify  the  name  bestowed  upon  it.  The  Sugar-Loaf  is  a  coni- 
cal rock,  one  hundred  and  thirty-four  feet  high,  standing  alone  in  hoary  majesty  in 
the  midst  of  a  grassy  plain. 

The  Lover's  Leap,  on  the  western  shore,  is  two  hundred  feet  high,  rising  from 
the  lake  like  a  rocky  column,  and  separated  from  the  adjoining  bank  by  a  deep 

\ 

chasm.  The  legend,  as  usual,  is  of  an  Indian  squaw,  who,  standing  on  the  rock, 
waiting  and  watching  for  the  return  of  her  lover  from  battle,  saw  the  warriors  bring- 
ing his  dead  body  to  the  island,  and  in  her  grief  threw  herself  into  the  lake.  But, 
as  a  bright  spirit  once  observed,  "One  gets  tired  of  thinking  of  all  the  girls  who 
have  leaped  ! "  and  enthusiasm  flags  over  a  heroine  whose  name  is  Me-che-ne-mock-e- 
nung-o-ne-qua  ! 

The  cliff  called  "Robinson's  Folly"  has  its  legend  also.  This  time  it  was  a 
young  officer  who  went  over;  indeed,  tbare  may  have  been  half  a  dozen  of  their,  f<>r 
the  Folly  was  a  summer-house  where  cigars  and  wiiic  helped  to  pass  awa}  the  long 
summer  days,  and,  when  at  last  the  rock  crumbled  and  carried  them  over,  I'obinson's 
Folly  was  complete,  and  is  still  remembered,  although  it  was  finished  moro  than  a 
hundred  years  ago. 

Old  Fort  Holmes,  on  the  highest  point  of  the  island,  was  built  by  the  British  in 
1812.  It  was  then  named  Fort  George,  but,  after  the  Americans  took  possession  of 
Mackinac,  it  was  renamed  after  the  gallant  Major  Holmes,  \\-\io  was  killed  in  the  bat- 
tle on  Dousman's  farm  the  preceding  year.  The  ruins  are  still  to  be  seen,  and  the 
surveyor's  station  on  the  summit  is  a  favorite  resort  f»r  summer  visitors,  as  the  view 
of  the  straits  is  superb. 

The  present  Fort  Mackinac  was  built  by  the   1!  about  a  century   nsro. 

stands  on  the  cliff  overlooking  the  village,  and  its  st<  ;  Is  and  block-houses  present 


312 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


a,  bold  front  to  the  traveler  wearied  with  the  peaceful,  level  shores  of  the  fresh-water 
-.     This  ancient  little  fort  ha.>  a  long  list  of  honored  names  among  its  records- 
veteran  names  of  the  AVar  of  1812,  well-known  names  of  the  Mexican  contest,  and 


Lover's  Leap. 

loved,  lamented  names  of  the  War  for  the  Union.  It  has  always  been  a  favorite 
station  among  the  Western  posts,  and  many  soldiers  have  looked  back  with  loving 
regret  as  the  boat  carried  them  away  from  the  beautiful  island. 

The  Island  of  Mackinao  was  a  sacred  spot  to  the  Indians  of  the  lakes.     They  be- 
lieved it  to  be  the  home  of  the  giant  fairies,  and  never  passed  its  shores  without 


THE  GREAT  LAKES.  313 

stopping  to  offer  tribute  to  the  powerful  genii  who  guarded  the  straits.  Even  now 
there  is  a  vague  belief  among  the  remnants  of  the  tribes  that  these  mystic  beings 
still  reside  under  the  island,  and  sometimes  sally  forth  by  night  from  the  hill  below 
the  fort. 

It  is  not  often  that  we  can  obtain  a  specimen  of  the  original  poetry  of  the  Indian 
race  before  intercourse  with  the  white  man  had  corrupted  its  simplicity.  Occasionally 
we  find  a  fragment.  Some  years  ago  an  aged  Indian  chieftain  left  his  Mackinac 
home  to  visit  some  of  his  tribe  in  the  Lake  Superior  country,  and,  as  he  sat  upon 
the  deck  of  the  steamer  in  the  clear  twilight  and  watched  the  outlines  of  the  Fairy 
Island  growing  faint  in  the  distance,  the  old  man's  heart  broke  forth  in  the  following 
apostrophe,  which  a  listener,  struck  by  its  beauty,  translated  and  transcribed  on  the 
spot  : 

"  Michilimackinac,  isle  of  the  clear,  deep-water  lake  !  how  soothing  it  is,  from 
amid  the  smoke  of  my  opawgun,  to  trace  thy  blue  outlines  in  the  distance,  and  to 
call  from  memory  the  traditions  and  legends  of  thy  sacred  character !  How  holy 
wast  thou  in  the  eyes  of  our  Indian  seers  !  How  pleasant  to  think  of  the  time  when 
our  fathers  could  see  the  stillness  which  the  great  Manitou  shed  on  thy  waters,  and 
hear  at  evening  the  sound  of  the  giant  fairies,  as  with  rapid  step  and  giddy  whirl 
they  danced  upon  thy  limestone  battlements !  Nothing  then  disturbed  them  save  the 
chippering  of  birds  and  the  rustling  of  the  silver-barked  birch.  Michilimackinac,  isle 
of  the  deep  lake,  farewell ! " 

There  have  been  projects  before  Congress  to  convert  this  beautiful  island  into  a 
national  park,  whereby  its  forests  may  escape  the  woodman's  axe,  and  its  shores  and 
rocks  remain  in  their  native  picturesque  beauty,  unmarred  by  the  hand  of  man.  We 
have  the  Yellowstone  and  the  Yosemite  as  national  pleasure-grounds  in  the  far  West 
— it  is  only  just  that  government  should  make  a  similar  reservation  east  of  the  Mis- 
sissippi. Mackinac  is  already  a  government  station ;  the  cost  of  adding  the  few  acres 
of  the  island  to  the  national  grounds  and  maintaining  supervision  over  them  would 
be  slight,  while  the  public  advantages  would  be  considerable.  Already  its  beauties, 
its  health-giving  airs,  and  its  facilities  for  boating  and  fishing,  are  making  the  island 
a  place  of  summer  resort ;  convert  it  into  a  park,  and  great  numbers  of  our  people 
will  make  it  their  annual  Mecca. 

Lake  Michigan  yields  to  none  of  the  Great  Lakes  in  commercial  importance,  and 
certainly  presents  to  the  lover  of  the  picturesque,  particularly  on  the  western  shore, 
features  of  scenery  which  he  would  scarcely  like  to  miss.  Its  great  port,  Chicago,  is 
at  the  western  end  of  lake  navigation,  and  is  the  most  important  railway  center  as 
well  as  the  largest  grain-depot  in  the  United  States.  The  lake  itself  is  the  only  one 
entirely  included  in  our  own  country.  It  lies  in  a  north  and  south  direction,  ex- 
tending from  the  northwestern  corner  of  Indiana  and  the  northern  part  of  Illinois 
to  Mackinac,  whence  its  waters  flow  into  Lake  Huron.  Its  length  following  the  curve 
is  three  hundred  and  fifty  miles,  its  greatest  breadth  about  ninety  miles,  its  mean 
depth  about  nine  hundred  feet. 


314 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


The  city  of  Chicago, 
which  lies  on  the  south- 
western shore  of  Lake  Mi- 
chigan, is  in  its  way  incom- 
parable. Its  name  stands 
as  a  type  for  all  that  is 
solid,  swift,  and  daring  in 
enterprise,  and  its  brill- 
iant history  has  given  it  a 
world-wide  renown.  The 
site  of  the  city  was  first 
visited  by  Marquette  in 
1673,  and  a  fort  was  built 
there  by  the  French  and 
named  Checogou,  from  an 
Indian  word  which  means 
"strong."  Fort  Dearborn 
was  erected  by  the  Unit- 
ed States  Government  in 
1804,  and  in  1813  the 
garrison  was  attacked  and 
destroyed  by  the  Potta- 
wattomie  Indians,  who  be- 
longed to  the  great  con- 
federacy formed  by  Pon- 
tiac.  The  fort  was  soon 
after  rebuilt,  and  remained 
in  existence  till  1856,  when 
it  was  demolished,  and  the 
reservation  sold  to  the  city 
of  Chicago.  The  place 
made  but  little  progress 
for  a  long  time,  and  in 
1833  it  only  contained  five 
hundred  and  fifty  inhabit- 
ants ;  in  1850  the  popula- 
tion numbered  28,296  in- 
habitants ;  .and  the  last 
census  report  shows  a  to- 
tal of  503,305,  a  gain  of 
more  than  two  hundred 
thousand,  or  of  about  six- 


THE  GREAT  LAKES.  315 

ty-five  per  cent,  in  the  last  ten  years.  Such  a  growth  as  this  is  unparalleled,  espe- 
cially when  it  is  remembered  that  in  the  early  part  of  the  decade  a  large  portion  of 
the  city  was  laid  in  ashes  by  the  most  tremendous  conflagration  of  modern  times. 
The  city  is  divided  into  three  parts  by  a  bayou  called  the  Chicago  River,  which 
extends  from  the  lake-shore  about  five  eighths  of  a  mile,  then  divides  into  two 
branches  running  north  and  south  nearly  parallel  with  the  lake,  about  two  miles  in 
each  direction.  The  river  and  its  branches  give  a  water  frontage  of  forty-one  miles, 
while  the  lake  frontage  of  the  city  is  about  eight  miles. 

The  great  fire  of  1871  burned  over  an  area  of  three  and  a  half  square  miles, 
destroying  the  most  important  business  and  residence  portions  of  the  city,  and  involv- 
ing a  loss  of  one  hundred  and  ninety  million  dollars.  Since  then  this  area  has  been 
wholly  rebuilt  in  a  style  greatly  surpassing  the  original.  The  river  winding  through 
the  heart  of  the  city,  lined  with  warehouses  and  wharves,  filled  with  vessels,  and 
crossed  by  bridges,  of  which  there  are  thirty-three  in  number,  is  a  strikingly  pictu- 
resque feature.  Here  are  animation,  rich  contrasts  of  color  and  form,  and  variety 
— all  that  sort  of  stir  and  movement  that  the  artist  delights  in,  and  one  may  be 
fascinated  for  hours  in  watching  the  ever-changing  picture  of  intense,  bustling  life. 
In  addition  to  the  bridges  there  are  two  tunnels,  passing  under  the  river,  to  facilitate 
communication.  The  fashionable  residence-streets  of  Chicago  are  semi-suburban  in 
character,  and  their  tree-embowered  mansions  alternate  with  structures  of  brick  and 
marble.  Here  may  be  seen  gay  throngs  of  carriages,  equestrians,  and  pedestrians, 
which  give  the  fashionable  promenades  as  animated  an  appearance  as  can  be  seen  any- 
where in  the  United  States. 

Chicago  has  a  noble  system  of  public  parks,  which  do  great  credit  to  the  enter- 
prise and  taste  of  the  people.  These  cover  an  area  of  nineteen  hundred  acres,  and 
include  six  inclosures.  One  of  them,  Lincoln  Park,  is  very  beautiful,  and  affords  a 
charming  drive  by  the  green-tinted,  foam-capped  lake.  When  the  park  system  of 
Chicago  is  fully  completed,  it  is  not  exaggeration  to  say  that  it  will  not  be  surpassed 
by  that  of  any  city  in  the  United  States,  if  indeed  it  be  equaled.  Among  objects  in 
the  city  of  special  interest  to  the  stranger  may  be  mentioned  the  huge  tunnel  under 
the  lake,  for  the  purpose  of  supplying  the  city  with  water,  and  the  great  hoisting- 
works  and  reservoirs  connected  with  it ;  the  towering  grain-elevators,  from  the  top  of 
which  may  be  had  extensive  prospects ;  the  immense  stock-yards,  the  largest  in  the 
world ;  and  the  usual  educational,  literary,  and  art  institutions,  which  grow  up  side 
by  side  with  material  interests  in  our  American  cities. 

Ninety  miles  north  of  Chicago  lies  Milwaukee,  and  you  may  go  thither  by  rail  or 
by  steamer  in  the  course  of  a  few  hours.  The  sail  is  particularly  delightful,  and  gives 
a  capital  idea  of  the  characteristics  of  the  lake-shore.  The  bank  is  thrown  up  in  quite 
strange  forms,  as  the  current,  which  is  very  swift,  and  is  gradually  wearing  away  the 
western  shore,  is  continually  remodeling  its  sandy  barrier.  At  Lake  Forest,  about 
twenty-eight  miles  from  Chicago,  the  fierce  surf  has  worn  the  soft  bank  into  curious 
columns  and  peaks,  some  of  them  twisted  and  seamed  in  a  most  grotesque  way.  After 


316  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

a  gale,  when  the  surf  has  been  very  high,  the  shore  is  often  utterly  transformed. 
Almost  every  mile  of  the  western  beach  has,  at  different  times,  been  strewed  with 
wrecks,  and  the  rotting  ribs  of  many  a  noble  vessel  may  be  seen  half  buried  in  the 
sand,  telling  a  ghastly  tale  of  shipwreck  and  death.  The  ocean-shores  of  Long  Island 
and  New  Jersey  have  not  been  more  prolific  of  destruction  to  the  mariner  than  the 
west  coast  of  Lake  Michigan.  Occasionally  we  see  the  bank  reaching  the  water's  edge 
in  sharply  serrated  ridges,  like  a  miniature  mountain-chain.  The  narrow  line  of  sandy 
beach  is  everywhere  strewed  with  wrecked  trees  that  have  been  torn  from  their  beds 
and  still  hold  their  leaves,  a  sad  picture  of  Nature's  wanton  ravages.  A  short  dis- 
tance back  from  the  line  of  beach  the  country  is  very  picturesque,  and  dotted  with 
pleasant  summer  villas,  belonging  to  Chicago  merchants. 

Often  the  shore  rises  into  a  noble  bluff,  half  sinking  again  into  a  beach,  with  a 
dense  wood  in  the  rear.  All  along  the  route  we  see  rude  fishing-villages,  and  here 
and  there  cities  and  towns  of  considerable  importance.  Kenosha  and  Eacine  are  the 
most  important  of  these  places.  The  former  city  is  on  a  high  bluff,  about  fifty  miles 
north  of  Chicago,  and  is  surrounded  by  a  beautiful  prairie  country.  Eacine,  a  little 
farther  north,  is  the  second  city  in  size  in  the  State  of  Wisconsin,  and  is  a  very 
thriving,  active  place,  as  well  as  the  seat  of  one  of  the  best  endowed  and  administered 
of  Western  colleges.  Both  cities  have  excellent  harbors.  Immense  piers,  stretching 
far  out  into  the  lake,  are  characteristic  features  of  Racine. 

The  city  of  Milwaukee  is  one  of  the  prettiest  of  Western  places,  and  has  marked 
commercial  importance  as  the  leading  port  of  Wisconsin,  the  population  reaching  more 
than  ninety  thousand.  The  city  covers  seventeen  square  miles,  and  many  of  the  houses 
are  built  in  semi-rustic  fashion,  with  pleasant  grounds  about  them.  As  Milwaukee  is 
somewhat  hilly,  it  gives  ample  chance  for  the  cultivation  of  the  picturesque  in  the 
appearance  of  its  more  costly  residences,  and  this  resource  has  been  utilized  with 
great  good  taste.  The  German  element,  which  is  very  large,  gives  the  city  a  distinct- 
ive character  and  aspect,  though  it  possesses  notwithstanding  that  air  of  briskness 
which  is  peculiar  to  the  Northwest. 

As  one  looks  at  Milwaukee  in  the  distance,  it  presents  so  many  domes,  turrets, 
cupolas,  spires,  and  towers,  that  he  might  fancy  himself  in  some  Mediterranean  port. 
The  architecture  is  of  the  most  diversified  form,  and  to  an  Eastern  eye  seems  odd  on 
account  of  the  general  use  of  the  cream-colored  brick.  The  Milwaukee  River,  which 
passes  through  the  city,  is  navigable  for  the  largest  size  of  vessels  for  two  miles  from 
the  lake,  and  is  spanned  by  many  bridges.  The  well-built  wharves  are  lined  with 
massive  and  imposing  warehouses  and  other  business  structures.  Propellers  of  a 
thousand  tons  burden  land  their  freights  at  the  very  doors  of  warehouses,  and  their 
gangways  lead  continuously  into  the  best  markets. 

The  most  important  industries  of  Milwaukee  are  the  grain-traffic — in  which  it  is 
only  inferior  to  Chicago — the  brewing  of  lager-beer,  and  the  manufacture  of  flour. 
Among  the  elevators  in  the  city  is  one  which  has  a  storage  capacity  of  a  million  and 
a  half  bushels,  and  there  is  a  flouring-mill  which  can  turn  out  one  thousand  barrels 


THE   GREAT  LAKES. 


317 


of  flour  daily.  These  are  only  slight  indices  of  a  prosperity  which  ranks  Milwau- 
kee among  the  most  thriving  of  Western  cities,  as  it  certainly  is  one  of  the  most 
charming. 

The  original  Indian  name  was  Mihvacky,  meaning  rich  or  beautiful  land,  and  was 
applied  to  a  little  village  on  the  site  of  the  present  city.  Milwaukee  has  monuments 
reaching  far  behind  written  records.  Not  only  are  there  very  ancient  Indian  relics, 
but  mounds  discovered  near  the  town  show  unmistakable  proofs  of  the  residence  of 


Shore  of  Lake  Michigan. 

an  earlier  race,  whose  very  traditions  are  now  extinct.  We  know  nothing  of  the  visit 
of  any  European  earlier  than  Father  Marquette,  who  was  such  an  indefatigable  ex- 
plorer and  missionary  in  far-back  colonial  times,  only  fifty-four  years  after  the  land- 
ing of  the  Pilgrims  in  New  England.  After  him  very  few,  except  French  traders  and 
priests,  visited  the  spot  till  1818,  when  a  Frenchman,  Solomon  Juneau,  settled  in  the 
Indian  village  of  Mil  wacky  with  his  family.  After  the  Black-Hawk  war  in  1835,  when 
the  Indians  were  driven  farther  back  into  the  West,  a  few  more  white  families  gathered 
about  Juneau's  block-house.  From  that  time  to  this,  less  than  fifty  years  has  sufficed 


318  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

to  make  Milwaukee  what  it  is  to-day.  But  we  have  so  many  facts  of  this  kind  in 
our  history  that  they  cease  to  be  matters  of  marvel. 

Between  Lakes  Michigan  and  Superior  intervenes  the  northern  peninsula  of  the 
State  of  Michigan,  and  to  reach  Superior,  the  largest  of  our  inland  seas,  we  must 
return  again  to  the  Straits  of  Mackinac,  and  through  them  to  Lake  Huron.  Thence 
by  a  series  of  broad,  open  channels,  interspersed  with  charming  islands,  we  pass  into 
the  Sault  Ste.-Marie,  and  through  this  to  the  ocean-like  expanse  of  Superior.  This 
lake  is  four  hundred  and  twenty  miles  long  following  its  curve,  and  one  hundred  and 
sixty  miles  at  its  greatest  breadth.  Its  greatest  depth  is  eight  hundred  feet.  Its  gen- 
eral shape  was  best  indicated  by  the  French  fathers,  who  first  came  hither  in  pursuit 
of  the  glory  of  God  and  of  France  more  than  two  centuries  ago,  as  "a  bended  bow, 
the  northern  shore  being  the  arc,  the  southern  shore  the  cord,  and  the  long  point 
the  arrow."  This  long  point  is  an  arm  of  copper-ore  thrust  out  seventy  miles  into 
the  lake  from  the  south  side. 

Passing  Sault  Ste.-Marie,  the  strait  which  leads  into  Superior,  and  is  hardly  in- 
ferior in  beauty  to  Mackinac,  we  see  Point  Iroquois  on  our  left,  and  immediately 
opposite  the  Gros  Cap  of  Canada,  six  hundred  feet  in  height.  Stories  of  Indian 
warfare  belong  to  these  points.  Here  the  all-victorious  Iroquois,  who  had  swept  all 
other  tribes  from  their  path,  met  a  serious  reverse.  They  met  the  Chippewas  of  the 
north;  and  in  a  two  days'  fight  defeated  them  with  considerable  loss.  The  remnant 
of  the  beaten  tribe  paddled  away  in  their  canoes,  and  the  triumphant  Iroquois  de- 
voted the  night  to  dancing  and  revel,  sinking  into  a  heavy  sleep  toward  morning. 
The  Chippewas  had  watched  their  fires  from  afar,  and  toward  dawn  they  silently 
returned  and  slew  their  sleeping  foes  to  a  man.  For  many  a  long  year  their  bleach- 
ing bones  lay  on  the  shore,  to  delight  the  sight  of  the  Indians  of  the  lake-country. 

To  explore  the  wild  beauties  of  Superior  it  is  best  to  leave  the  steamboat  at 
Munesing  Harbor  and  betake  ourselves  to  a  sail-boat  or  an  Indian  canoe.  It  was 
expected  that  a  large  city  would  be  built  at  Munesing,  but  the  iron  interests  a  little 
farther  westward  carried  the  day,  and  so  Marquette,  named  after  the  great  Jesuit 
explorer,  attracted  population  and  capital  instead. 

The  celebrated  Pictured  Rocks  stretch  from  Munesing  Harbor  eastward  along  the 
coast,  rising  in  some  places  to  the  height  of  two  hundred  feet  from  the  water  in 
sheer  precipices  without  beach  at  the  bases.  They  show  a  countless  succession  of 
rock-sculptures,  glowing  with  brilliant  color,  yellow,  blue,  green,  and  gray,'  in  all 
shades  of  dark  and  light.  Here  the  dull  pages  of  geology  blossom  like  the  rose  in 
forms  and  tints  of  indescribable  beauty.  The  rock-pictures  succeed  each  other  in 
such  swift  succession  that  they  can  hardly  be  enumerated,  sweeping  from  curve  to 
curve  for  mile  after  mile.  In  them  the  imagination  can  easily  see  the  likeness  of 
castles,  towers,  cathedrals,  processions,  the  tracery  of  tropical  foliage,  and  what  not ; 
oftentimes  so  vivid  is  the  resemblance,  that  the  most  sober  observer  is  forced  to  admit 
the  reality.  Passing  the  Chimneys  and  the  Miner's  Castle,  we  see  a  wonderful  de- 
tached mass  called  Sail-Rock.  This  so  closely  resembles  a  sloop  with  the  jib  and 


THE  GREAT  LAKES.  319 

mainsail   spread,  that  at  a  short  distance   away   one  would  fancy  it  a  real  boat  at 
anchor  ntar  the  beach. 

One  of  the  most  striking  of  the  rock-formations  past  which  we  sail  in  wondering 
admiration  is  the  Grand  Portal,  so  named  by  the  early  voyageurs,  who,  it  may  be 
said,  christened  many  of  the  most  interesting  sights  on  the  shore  of  Superior,  for 


Sail-Rock,  Lake  Svperwr. 

these  hardy  adventurers  never  failed  to  show  a  keen  eye  for  the  wonderful  and 
beautiful.  This  rock  is  one  hundred  feet  high  by  one  hundred  and  sixty-eight  feet 
broad  at  the  water-level ;  and  the  cliff  above  the  arch  lifts  eighty-five  feet  higher. 
The  Portal  opens  into  a  grand  vaulted  cave  arched  with  yellow  sandstone,  whose  sides 
have  been  fretted  into  a  thousand  fantastic  shapes  by  huge  storm- waves.  On  a  still 


330 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


Grand.  Portal,  Lake  Superior. 

day  there  is  a  wonderful  echo  in  the  cave,  the  voice  reverberating  till  it  dies  away 
into  a  mysterious  whisper.  Naturally  did  the  superstitious  red-men  fancy  that  this 
cave  was  haunted  by  imps  and  elves,  who  played  their  pranks  on  rash  intruders. 

Farther  toward  the  east  is  Chapel  Rock.  This  natural  church,  hewed  by  the 
hands  of  the  elements,  is  forty  feet  above  the  lake,  a  temple  with  an  arched  roof 
resting  partly  on  massive  columns,  partly  on  the  cliffs  behind,  its  forms  and  lines  as 
perfect  as  the  ruins  of  Karnak  or  Baalbec.  The  glowing  colors  of  the  rock  might 
be  fancied  the  frescoing,  and  in  the  solemn  monotone  of  the  waves  washing  the  base 
we  can  hear  the  suggestions  of  music.  According  to  the  Indian  tradition,  here  dwells 
the  great  Manitou  of  the  storm,  who  rules  the  winds  and  waves  of  the  lake  from 
the  Sault  Ste. -Marie  to  Fond  du  Lac.  Here,  on  the  chapel  beach,  the  Indian  wor- 
shipers performed  rites  to  appease  the  offended  deity  who  held  the  raging  winds  in 
the  hollow  of  his  hand.  Here,  too,  at  a  later  date  the  jovial  voyageurs  in  pranksome 
mood  initiated  the  novices  in  the  fur-trade  by  plunging  them  under  the  water-fall  that 


THE  GREAT  LAKES.  321 

dashes  over  the  rocks  near  by.  The  Silver  Cascade  falls  from  an  overhanging  cliff 
one  hundred  and  seventy-five  feet  into  the  lake  below,  though  it  is  but  a  mere  rib- 
bon in  breadth.  In  fact,  the  whole  Superior  coast  is  spangled  with  innumerable 
cascades,  made  by  the  little  rivers,  which,  instead  of  flowing  through  ravines  and 
gorges  cut  out  for  their  channel,  dash  madly  over  the  brows  of  lofty  cliffs,  veritable 
homes  for  laughing  water-sprites. 

Days  might  be  spent  in  viewing  the  Coast  of  Pictures,  for  their  beauties  vary  in 
light  and  shadow,  by  sunshine  and  moonshine.  Different  outlines  present  them- 
selves at  different  times — battlements  and  arches,  cities  with  spires  and  towers,  foliage 
and  vines,  processions  of  men  and  animals.  Even  the  great  sea-serpent,  that  strange 
myth  of  the  seas  and  lakes,  offers  a  presentment  of  his  unknown  form  in  a  wide 
rock-photograph.  In  one  place  there  stands  the  profile  of  a  woman,  a  majestic  face 
gazing  toward  the  north,  to  which  has  been  given  the  name  of  the  "  Empress  of  the 
Lakes."  It  is  the  pleasure  of  this  imperial  personage,  who  has  all  the  mystery  and 
modesty  of  Diana  herself,  to  show  herself  only  by  the  light  of  the  moon.  You  may 
look  for  her  in  vain  during  the  day-time.  So  benign  is  the  aspect,  so  rounded  the 
womanly  curves  of  this  figure,  that  one  might  easily  fall  into  the  dream  of  Endymion. 

Sailing  westward  from  the  Pictured  Kocks  past  the  temples  of  Au-Train  and  the 
Laughing  Fish  Point,  Marquette  comes  into  view,  a  fine  picturesque  harbor,  the  out- 
let for  the  Iron  Mountain,  a  ridge  lying  twelve  miles  back,  whose  metal  bowels  send 
out  hundreds  of  thousands  of  tons  of  iron  to  the  mills  of  the  country.  A  fleet  of 
hundreds  of  vessels  belongs  to  this  traffic  ;  and  no  sooner  does  the  ice  free  the  lake 
in  the  spring,  than  their  white  sails  may  be  seen  dotting  the  water  as  far  as  the  eye 
can  stretch.  Perilous  voyages  are  theirs,  too,  for  many  of  them  founder  in  storms 
and  go  down  with  all  on  board  off  the  harborless  coast  of  the  Pictured  Rocks,  which, 
though  splendid  to  the  eye  and  fancy,  are  grewsome,  indeed,  for  the  mariner.  Next 
beyond  we  skirt  the  copper  arm  of  Keweenaw,  the  arrow  in  the  bow.  This  great 
promontory  of  copper  has  its  history,  for  its  hills  were  mined  centuries  ago,  and  the 
first  white  explorers  found  the  ancient  furnaces  and  tools,  relics  of  a  mysterious 
industry  of  which  the  Indians  knew  nothing.  These  old  mining  works  have  been 
ascribed  to  the  extinct  mound-builders,  but  their  origin  will  always  remain  in 
doubt. 

The  Chippewas  of  Superior  regarded  the  Point  of  Copper  with  profound  awe,  for 
here  dwelt  an  implacable  demon.  Rites  and  gifts  were  paid  by  them  when  timidly 
they  would  land  for  some  copper  ;  then,  without  looking  back,  they  would  flee  with 
the  utmost  speed  of  arm  and  paddle.  They  would  not  act  as  guides,  though  the 
most  tempting  bribes  were  offered  them.  Probably  this  is  the  greatest  copper-mining 
region  in  the  world.  Almost  pure  native  ore  is  found  in  masses  of  five  hundred 
tons.  To-day  it  not  only  supplies  the  whole  country,  but  is  shipped  abroad  in  large 
quantities.  The  north  shore  of  this  point  is  bold  with  picturesque  rock-harbors,  and 
beyond  Outonagon,  the  western  end  of  the  copper  region,  rise  the  Porcupine  Mount- 
ains. At  Montreal  River  Michigan  yields  the  lake-shore  to  Wisconsin. 

81 


322  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

We  soon  reach  the  beautiful  island  group  of  the  Apostles,  so  named  by  Father 
Marquette.  It  was  here  that  the  heroic  Jesuit  explorer  first  heard  of  the  Mississippi, 
or  Great  Water,  from  the  Illinois  tribes,  who  were  attracted  by  the  trinkets  distrib- 
uted by  the  French.  The  idea  of  exploring  this  wonderful  river  never  left  his  mind ; 
and  when,  in  1673,  he  entered  its  waters,  he  characterized  his  feeling  in  his  journal 
as  "a  joy  I  am  not  able  to  express."  The  islands  make  a  beautiful  archipelago,  lying 
close  to  the  shore,  where  is  situated  the  United  States  agency  for  the  Chippewa 
Indians.  Not  many  years  ago  an  interesting  romance  took  place  here.  A  young 
man  of  excellent  family,  education,  and  refinement,  fell  in  love  with  a  beautiful, 
dusky  maid,  the  daughter  of  a  Chippewa  chief.  His  father,  to  cure  him  of  the  infat- 
uation, sent  him  to  the  East,  hoping  that  the  fashionable  gayeties  of  civilization 
would  cure  him  of  his  devotion  to  his  forest  love.  But  it  was  in  vain  ;  he  returned, 
and  after  a  short  time  he  was  suddenly  missed.  A  fisherman  brought  word  that  lie 
had  met  the  youth  in  a  canoe,  paddling  his  Indian  mistress  decked  in  all  her  finery. 
The  father  pursued,  but  it  was  too  late  ;  the  couple  had  been  united  in  holy  bonds 
by  a  mission  priest.  Whether  or  not  the  young  man,  who  had  sacrificed  so  much 
for  love,  returned  to  civilization,  or  became  an  adopted  son  of  the  tribe,  we  are  not 
told.  The  large  half-breed  population  of  the  Lake  Superior  country,  many  of  whom 
occupy  places  of  responsibility  and  trust,  show  that  there  have  been  many  such  unions, 
especially  on  the  part  of  the  early  French  residents,  in  the  old  fur-trading  times. 

At  the  head  of  Lake  Superior  is  the  St.  Louis  River,  which  marks  the  division 
between  Wisconsin  and  Minnesota,  and  also  introduces  us  to  the  north  shore  of  the 
lake.  On  St.  Louis  Bay  stands  the  town  of  Duluth,  which  has  been  named  the 
Chicago  of  Lake  Superior,  for  in  its  first  three  years  it  obtained  a  population  of  four 
thousand  people.  This  town  lies  at  the  extreme  western  end  of  the  great  lake-chain, 
as  Quebec  stands  at  its  eastern  end,  for  the  St.  Lawrence  beyond  is  but  an  arm  of 
the  sea.  Between  these  two  points  lie  seventeen  hundred  and  fifty  miles. 

The  north  shore  of  Superior  is  still  wrapped  largely  in  mystery,  for  the  settle- 
ments are  only  mere  dots  on  the  map,  of  which  but  little  is  known.  Stories  of  great 
wealth  in  the  precious  and  useful  metals  have  always  been  rife  of  this  region,  and 
even  now  exciting  rumors  of  the  treasures  that  lie  hidden  on  this  unknown  coast  are 
thick  in  the  air.  Only  a  few  years  ago  no  one  had  traversed  this  great  region  except 
the  hunters,  traders,  and  voyageurs  of  the  Hudson  Bay  Company,  whose  forts  are 
scattered  throughout,  with  little  villages  of  motley  inhabitants  grouped  around  them. 
No  commercial  enterprise  has  a  more  romantic  history,  or  is  linked  to  more  striking 
traditions,  except  the  British  East  India  Company. 

The  Hudson  Bay  Company  was  formed  in  1669,  by  Prince  Rupert,  the  nephew  of 
Charles  I,  and  dashing  cavalry  leader  of  the  Parliamentary  wars.  The  prince  obtained 
a  charter  from  the  second  Charles,  granting  the  whole  right  of  trading  in  all  the 
countries  watered  by  rivers  flowing  into  the  Hudson  Bay.  This  right  was  afterward 
stretched  to  cover  the  whole  of  British  America,  and  as  much  of  the  United  States 
as  the  hunters  found  of  any  use.  All  through  the  north  coasts  of  Superior  roamed 


THE   GREAT  LAKES. 


323 


the  company's  hunters  and  trappers  ;  along  the  myriad  of  little  lakes  and  rivers  the 
voyageurs  paddled  their  canoes,  trading  with  the  red-men  and  gathering  together  their 
bales  of  furs,'  which  were  to  deck  the  beautiful  shoulders  of  lovely  women  in  every 
capital  of  Europe.  The  head  men  .were  generally  English  or  Scotch,  but  the  voya- 
geurs were  French  and  French  half-breeds.  The  quick  imaginations  of  these  hardy 
and  daring  men  have  given  names  to  most  of  the  bays,  points,  and  cliffs  on  the  lake, 
while  the  more  stately  English  titles  are  all  forgotten.  They  were  a  merry  race,  and 


Island  No.  1,  Lake  Superior.    ' 

recollections  of  their  gallantry,  good  humor,  and  unflinching  courage  and  endurance 
are  still  rife  among  the  old  residents  of  the  Superior  region.  The  adventures,  exploits, 
and  conflicts,  which  occurred  under  the  regime  of  the  Hudson  Bay  Company  when  at 
its  height  of  power,  make  most  fascinating  reading.  Washington  Irving  has  embalmed 
some  of  these  stories  in  his  book  "Astoria,"  wherein  he  relates  the  history  of  the  fur 
company  formed  by  John  Jacob  Astor,  for  the  purpose  of  disputing  the  arrogant  sway 
of  the  Hudson  Bay  Company,  an  enterprise  only  foiled  by  the  treachery  and  imbecility 
of  some  of  Astor's  most  trusted  agents. 


324  OUR  NATIVE  LAND, 

The  Superior  shore,  north  of  Duluth,  towers  up  in  grand  cliffs  of  greenstone  and 
porphyry,  from  eight  to  twelve  hundred  feet  in  height.  Among  these  cliffs  may  be 
noticed  specially  the  Great  Palisade,  whose  columns  are  more  symmetrical  and  lofty 
than  those  of  the  Hudson,  and  the  picturesque  walls  of  Beaver  Bay.  The  quick  hu- 
mor of  the  old  voyageurs  is  perpetuated  in  some  of  the  names  of  interesting  points 
on  the  shore.  For  example,  Baptism  River  comes  dashing  down  to  the  lake  beyond 
the  Great  Palisade  in  a  series  of  wild  water-falls  through  a  wall  of  rocks,  where  it  has 
cut  its  way  when  the  storm  has  barred  its  natural  entrance  into  the  lake  with  sand. 
The  name  was  given  because  a  persistent  scoffer  fell  in  accidentally,  and  a  priest  in- 
stantly baptized  him  in  spite  of  himself.  A  harbor  not  far  away  was  called  Temper- 
ance, because  there  was  no  bar  at  its  mouth. 

At  Pigeon  River  we  reach  the  boundary-line  between  the  United  States  and 
Canada.  Here  begins  the  Grand  Portage,  where,  through  a  series  of  lakes  and 
streams,  the  names  of  which  have  a  wild  sound,  suggestive  of  peril  and  hardship — 
Rainy  Lake,  Lake  of  the  Woods,  and  Lake  Winnipeg — the  voyageurs  made  a  quick 
passage  to  the  Saskatchewan  and  the  Red  River  country. 

The  whole  Canadian  shore  is  grandly  beautiful  in  its  promontories,  bays,  islands, 
and  cliffs,  presenting  not  less  to  fascinate  the  eye  and  imagination  than  the  southern 
coast  of  the  lake.  Near  Fort  William,  a  Hudson  Bay  Company's  post,  is  the  magnifi- 
cent basaltic  cliff  of  Thunder  Cape,  thirteen  hundred  and  fifty  feet  high,  upon  whose 
summit  rest  the  dark  thunder-clouds,  supposed  by  the  Indians  to  be  giant  birds 
brooding  on  their  nests.  At  the  foot  of  it  lies  Silver  Island,  whose  mines  are  of  al- 
most unequaled  richness,  the  same  rich  veins  being  also  found  on  the  shore  a  few 
hundred  feet  away. 

Beyond  Cape  Thunder  we  find  the  Bay  of  Clear  Waters,  with  its  picturesque 
islands ;  Otter  Head,  a  sheer  precipice  of  a  thousand  feet,  on  whose  summit  stands  a 
monument  which  on  one  side  displays  the  profile  of  a  man,  and  on  the  other  the 
shape  of  an  otter's  head ;  the  broad  Bay  of  Michipicoten,  or  the  Bay  of  the  Hills,  sur- 
prising for  its  quaint  rock-formations ;  and  Island  No.  1,  which  is  a  bold  mass  of  rock 
rising  up  from  the  water  that  intervenes  between  it  and  a  beautifully  formed  arch 
cut  out  of  the  shore-cliffs.  In  brief,  this  part  of  Lake  Superior,  like  all  the  others, 
offers  pictures  of  unwearying  interest.  The  largest  islands  are  Michipicoten,  Saint 
Ignace,  the  rugged  Pic,  and  St.  Royale,  the  last  named  leading  the  others  in  big- 
ness. This  is  forty-five  miles  in  length,  and  by  some  legislative  freak  belongs  to 
Houghton  County,  Michigan.  Royale  was  once  the  occasion  of  a  great  silver-mining 
excitement,  'but  it  is  now  deserted,  and  only  its  natural  beauty  left  to  excite  interest ; 
for  its  castellated  and  columned  cliffs  of  trap-rock  rise  directly  from  water  so  deep 
that  the  largest  vessels  can  lie  at  the  foot  within  touching  distance. 


White  Mountains,  from  the  Conway  Meadows. 


THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  THE  NORTH. 


Some  characteristic  scenes  in  the  White  Mountains — Mount  Mansfield  and  the  Green  Mountains  of  Vermont — 
The  Adirondack  region  of  New  York — Mountain,  lake,  forest,  river,  and  water-falls,  most  picturesquely  blended 
— The  Catskills  and  their  peculiarities— The  Delaware  Water-Gap— The  Blue  Ridge  of  Pennsylvania — The 
beauties  of  the  Juniata  region — Mauch  Chunk,  the  most  picturesque  of  mountain  towns. 

THE  mountain  system  of  the  eastern  side  of  the  North  American  Continent 
stretches  from  the  banks  of  the  St.  Lawrence  to  the  thirty-fourth  parallel  of  latitude, 
which  passes  through  the  northern  part  of  South  Carolina,  Georgia,  and  Tennessee. 


326  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

As  far  north  as  the  Hudson  the  direction  is  pretty  nearly  southwest  and  northeast. 
In  its  southern  parts,  in  Alabama,  it  is  at  its  greatest  distance  from  the  sea,  but  con- 
tinually approaches  nearer  as  it  runs  north,  till  it  is  traversed  by  the  Hudson  River, 
where  it  is  also  reached  by  tide-water.  Here  it  takes  a  turn  more  to  the  north 
through  Vermont  and  New  Hampshire.  It  is  generally  known  as  the  Appalachian 
Chain,  and  sometimes  as  the  Alleghanies,  though  in  common  usage  the  latter  title  is 
specifically  applied  to  the  mountains  of  Pennsylvania  and  Virginia,  while  local  names 
are  current  in  the  other  States  through  which  the  great  chain  extends. 

The  mountainous  part  of  Maine  is  a  region  of  virgin  wilderness,  only  traversed  by 
the  stealthy  footsteps  of  wild  creatures,  or  the  tramp  of  the  logger,  the  hunter,  or 
fisherman,  except  here  and  there  where  a  lonely  country  tavern  offers  its  shelter  to 
those  who  would  forget  the  refinements  of  civilization,  and  take  a  plunge  into  the 
delights  of  wild,  free  life.  The  mountains  of  Maine  take  the  form  of  scattered  spurs, 
being  the  sentinels  and  oiitposts  of  the  White  Mountains  of  New  Hampshire.  The 
highest  of  them  is  Mount  Katahdin,  which  rises  5,385  feet.  At  the  foot  of  these 
mountains  the  surface  falls  away  into  a  charming  region  of  forests,  lakes,  hills,  val- 
leys, and  undulating  plains,  through  which  swift  streams  pass,  picturesque  in  cascades 
and  rapids.  It  is  not  till  we  reach  New  Hampshire,  however,  that  we  are  intro- 
duced to  mountain-forms  on  a  grand  scale. 

The  White  Mountains  rise  from  a  plateau  forty-five  miles  in  length  by  thirty  in 
breadth,  and  sixteen  hundred  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea.  The  peaks  cluster  in 
two  groups,  the  western  being  locally  known  as  the  Franconia  group,  and  the  east- 
ern as  the  White  Mountains,  a  table-land  of  from  ten  to  twenty  miles  in  breadth 
stretching  between  them.  The  principal  summits  of  the  eastern  group  are  Mounts 
Washington  (6,226  feet  high),  Adams  (5,759  feet),  Jefferson  (5,657  feet),  Madison 
(5,415  feet),  Monroe  (5,349  feet),  Franklin  (4,850  feet),  and  Pleasant  (4,704  feet), 
while  the  principal  peaks  of  the  Franconia  group  are  Lafayette  (5,259  feet),  Lib- 
erty, Cherry  Mountain,  and  Moosehillock  (4,811  feet).  There  are  four  great  valleys 
leading  to  the  White  Mountains — those  of  the  Connecticut,  Androscoggin,  the  Saco, 
and  the  Pemigewasset — which  receive  and  pour  into  their  rivers  a  thousand  little 
streams  that  force  their  way  down  steep  glens  from  springs  in  the  mountain-sides, 
and  flow  through  narrow  valleys  among  the  hills.  The  course  of  these  little  rivulets 
that  break  in  water-falls,  or  whose  amber  flood  runs  over  mossy  beds  among  the 
forests,  furnishes  rude  but  sure  pathways  and  roads  by  which  the  traveler  gains 
access  to  these  wild  retreats.  We  have  already  given  some  description  of  Mount 
Washington  and  the  ascent  to  its  summit,  in  the  article,  "  Our  Inland  Pleasure- 
Places,"  and  will  therefore  pass  by  this  highest  of  the  White  Mountain  peaks,  and 
dwell  on  other  characteristic  features  of  the  mountains. 

It  is  very  nearly  a  day's  journey  by  stage  from  North  Conway  to  the  little  hotel 
at  the  foot  of  Willey  Mountain,  which  looks  up  to  the  abrupt  precipices  of  Mount 
Crawford  on  the  other  side.  A  bugle  blown  at  this  spot  starts  the  echoes,  repeating 
them  back  and  forth  heavier  and  louder  than  the  first  blast,  so  that  one  might 


THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  THE  NORTH. 


327 


fancy  it  the  music  of  a  band 
of  giants  hidden  on  the  wood- 
ed mountain-slope.  From  the 
Willey  House  to  the  gate  of 
Crawford  Notch  the  path  be- 
comes narrower  and  sterner  to 
the  Gate  of  the  Notch.  The 
slope  of  the  mountain-sides, 
here  two  or  three  thousand 
feet  high,  is  very  abrupt,  and 
the  narrow  ravine  is  nearly  un- 
broken for  three  or  four  miles 
till  one  has  passed  the  gate. 
The  picturesque  and  roman- 
tic charm  of  this  spot  is  most 
impressive.  The  river  boils 
and  plunges  over  broken  rocks, 
and  the  narrow  passage  for  the 
stage  twists  and  winds,  cross- 
ing the  torrent  at  intervals 
over  slender  bridges,  till,  at 
the  Gate  of  the  Notch,  an 
opening,  hardly  wide  enough 
to  allow  the  passage  of  a  team 
of  horses  and  the  raging  riv- 
er, is  bounded  on  each  side 
by  a  sheer  wall  of  rock,  on 
the  projections  of  which  hare- 
bells and  maiden-hair  are  wav- 
ing, and  down  whose  steep 
sides  leap  the  tiny  waters  of 
the  Silver  Cascade,  the  course 
of  which  can  be  observed  sev- 
eral hundred  feet  up  the  sides 
of  Mount  Webster,  sparkling 
in  the  sunlight. 

It  is  from  Crawford  Notch 
that  the  tourist  usually  makes 
the  ascent  to  Mount  Washing- 
ton on  horseback.  He  may 
descend,  if  he  chooses,  by  car- 
riage-road, which  follows  the 


(fate  of  the  Crawford  Notch. 


328  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

\ 

course  of  a  little  stream  called  the  Ellis,  till  a  plateau  is  reached,  from  which  rise  the 
whole  group  of  the  White  Mountains.  Here  is  situated  the  Glen  House.  A  wonder- 
ful view  is  opened  to  the  vision  at  this  spot.  The  five  highest  mountains  of  New 
England — Mounts  Washington,  Clay,  Jefferson,  Adams,  and  Madison — lie  before  him, 
dense  forests  clothing  their  lower  flanks,  the  ravines,  land-slides,  and  windfalls  being 
clearly  defined,  and  above  all  tower  their  desolate  peaks.  The  little  plateaus  scattered 
here  and  there,  at  the  Notch  House,  at  Franconia,  and  at  the  Glen,  seem  to  be  darker 
than  ordinary  places,  for  the  sky  is  cut  off  many  angles  above  the  horizon  on  every 
hand,  and  the  sun  has  a  short  transit  across  the  open  arc  of  the  sky,  leaving  a  longei 
period  of  twilight  both  at  morning  and  evening  even  during  fair  weather ;  but,  when 
the  heavy  fog-banks  collect  on  these  lonely  mountains  and  the  storm-clouds  muster  on 
every  peak,  the  impression  of  gloom  is  most  striking. 

Following  the  stage-road  to  the  west  from  the  Glen  House,  we  soon  leave  the 
Androscoggin  Valley  behind,  and  from  the  windings  and  curves  of  the  route  we  get 
magnificent  prospects  looking  back.  Now  the  steep  side  of  Mount  Madison  looms  up 
with  a  clear  sweep  from  its  base,  washed  by  the  rocky  Moose  River,  and  its  lower 
flanks  clothed  with  huge  forest-trees.  Now  we  see  one  slope  of  the  mountain,  now 
another,  as  the  road  twists  like  the  track  of  a  serpent,  till  the  twin  peak  of  Adams 
peeps  over  the  immense  shoulders  of  Jefferson.  So  mountain  after  mountain,  with 
deeply  gullied  sides  and  rocky  summits,  comes  in  sight.  When  the  afternoon  sun 
purples  the  mountain-sides,  and  the  huge  trees,  twisted  and  bent,  stand  like  sentinels 
profiled  against  the  soft  light  of  the  hills,  the  view  is  peculiarly  grand.  Each  new 
mountain  vision  shuts  off  the  others,  and  there  is  an  ever  novel  surprise  at  the  num- 
ber and  variety  of  them,  always  immense  in  sweep  and  grand  in  curve.  When  at 
last  we  reach  the  Mount  Adams  House,  we  look  on  the  whole  great  chain  of  the 
chief  peaks,  their  forests  shimmering  with  light,  and  so  near  that  one  almost  feels 
like  laying  his  hand  on  their  flickering  sides. 

Following  the  borders  of  the  Moose  Eiver,  and  striking  across  the  Cherry  Mount- 
ain to  the  White  Mountain  House,  we  find  ourselves,  after  a  stage-ride  of  about 
thirty-five  miles,  beyond  the  Ammonoosuc  Hills,  the  range  of  hills  that  connects  the 
White  Mountains  proper  with  the  Franconia  range.  The  Ammonoosuc  River,  along 
which  the  route  for  the  most  part  passes,  is  one  of  the  most  wild  and  picturesque 
streams  in  New  Hampshire,  the  current  running  very  swiftly,  and  breaking  into  many 
a  fine  water-fall.  Along  this  valley  to  the  eastward,  rise  the  White  Mountains  ;  on 
the  south  the  Franconia  range,  and  Mount  Lafeyette  towering  majestically  above  the 
rest,  shut  in  the  plain  ;  while  to  the  west  appear  the  Green  Mountains  of  Vermont. 
At  one's  feet  on  every  side  lie  the  valleys,  and  above  the  plain  rise  the  mountain- 
peaks.  The  ascent  into  Franconia  Notch,  which  is  very  steep  and  difficult,  properly 
begins  at  the  little  town  of  Bethlehem. 

The  Franconia  range,  though  belonging  really  to  the  same  group  of  hills  as  the  rest, 
has  a  character  distinct  from  the  austere  forms  of  the  White  Mountains,  as  it  has  from 
the  soft  swells  of  the  Green  Mountains,  and  is  eminently  charming  and  picturesque. 


THE  MOUNTAINS   OF  THE  NORTH. 


329 


A  little  way  from  the  Pro- 
file House,  which  commands 
one  of  the  finest  situations  in 
the  Franconia  Hills,  we  find 
ourselves  beside  the  Echo  Lake, 
surrounded  by  hills,  with  the 
high  peak  of  Mount  Lafayette 
overlooking  us.  As  we  wander 
down  from  the  Profile  House 
to  the  little  pebbly  beach  that 
borders  the  lake,  green  woods, 
tangled  above  our  heads,  pro- 
tect us  from  the  sun,  and  in  the 
watery  mirror  we  see  reflected 
all  the  giant  forms  around  us. 
While  we  sit  here  enjoying  its 
quiet  beauty,  and  watching  the 
flight  of  the  eagles  in  the  air, 
perhaps  we  hear  the  note  of  a 
bugle  from  the  little  boat  that 
takes  passengers  to  the  middle 
of  the  lake.  The  echo  bounds 
from  point  to  point,  until  the 
whole  forest  seems  filled  with 
a  band  of  musicians,  and  the 
echoes  fade  away.  We  instantly 
think  of  the  lines  of  the  Eng- 
lish poet  laureate : 

"  Oh  hark  !   oh  hear !      How  thin 

and  clear, 
And  thinner,  clearer,  farther 

going ; 
Oh,  sweet,  and  far  from  cliff  and 

scaur 
The  horns  of  elf-land  faintly 

blowing! 
Blow,  let  us  hear  the  purple  glens 

replying, 

Blow,  bugle;  answer,  echoes  dy- 
ing, dying,  dying." 

Following  the  path  back 
from  the  lake  to  the  Profile 


330 


OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 


f 


House,  we  come  to  the 
scarred  wall  of  Eagle  Cliff, 
that  rises  directly  in  front 
of  the  hotel.  Eagles  build 
their  nests  here,  whence 
the  name,  and  there  are 
various  traditions  of  chil- 
dren and  lambs  being  car- 
ried off  by  these  wild  pi- 
rates of  the  air.  Nearly 
opposite  Eagle  Cliff,  Pro- 
file Mountain  rises  abrupt- 
ly from  the  margin  of  a  lit- 
tle lake,  familiarly  known 
as  the  "  Old  Man's  Wash- 
Bowl,"  covered  with  for- 
est-trees far  up  its  sides, 
over  which,  looking  down 
into  the  valley  from  its 
lofty  position,  two  thou- 
sand feet  up,  appears  the 
wonder  of  the  region,  the 
"  Old  Stone  Face,"  as  firm- 
ly cut  as  if  chiseled  by 
a  sculptor's  hand.  Haw- 
thorne has  thrown  over 
this  spot  the  glamour  of 
his  wonderful  imagination 
in  one  of  his  short  stories. 
The  rocks  of  which  it  is 
formed  are  three  blocks  of 
granite,  so  set  together  as 
to  make  an  overhanging 
brow,  a  clearly  defined 
nose,  and  a  sharply  mod- 
eled chin.  Many  of  the 
pictures  made  on  rocks  by 
fissures  and  discolorations 
require  an  effort  of  imagi- 
nation to  make  out  any  likeness  from  the  confused  lines,  but  this  view  of  the  old 
man's  profile  is  startling  in  its  exactness,  and  needs  no  fancy  to  make  it  real. 

Following  the  course  of  the  Pemigewasset,  whose  source  is  in   the   "  Old   Man's 


The  Flume. 


THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  THE  NORTH.  331 

Wash-Basin,"  as  the  sister  stream  of  the  Ammonoosuc  is  in  Echo  Lake,  with  only 
the  rise  of  a  little  mound  to  turn  them  north  or  south,  one  comes  on  beautiful  cas- 
cades, where  the  mountain-stream  rushes  over  its  rocky  bed.  Moving  along  the  rude 
pathway  we  soon  reach  the  Flume  House,  where  the  narrow  gorge  of  the  river  widens 
out  to  the  flowing  sweep  of  the  open  valley.  A  rough  wagon-path  from  the  hotel 
attracts  us  in  the  direction  of  falling  waters. 

We  now  come  to  smooth,  flat  rocks  over  which  flows  the  pure,  colorless  sheet  of 
the  mountain-waters.  Above,  the  water  dashes  over  a  green,  craggy  bed,  the  colors  of 
which  are  seen  in  the  sparkling  sunshine  that  penetrates  the  overarching  leaves,  reveal- 
ing the  gold  and  amber  oh  sand  and  pebbly  floor.  Above  this  mossy  bed  we  reach  a 
fissure  in  the  hill,  with  steep  sides  fifty  or  more  feet  high,  and  hundreds  of  feet  long, 
narrowing  at  the  upper  end  till  it  is  only  ten  or  twelve  feet.  Climbing  painfully 
from  one  stone  to  another,  crossing  and  recrossing  the  ravine,  alternately  clambering 
over  rocks  and  rude  tree-trunks,  we  at  length  reach  the  narrowest  part  of  the  rift. 
Green  mosses  cover  the  rocks  and  fleck  the  tree-trunks  on  the  side.  Just  above  the 
place  where  we  stand  a  huge  bowlder  is  wedged,  seemingly  just  ready  to  slip  from  its 
place,  though  it  has  been  there  probably  thousands  of  years,  and  will  remain  firm  for 
thousands  of  years  more.  This  ravine  is  the  Flume,  one  of  the  celebrated  spots  of 
the  mountains. 

The  White  Mountains  are  not  yet  fully  explored.  Every  year  adds  some  new  lake, 
glen,  precipice,  cascade,  or  gorge  to  the  known  treasures  of  the  picturesque.  The  beau- 
ties and  delights  of  the  wild  regions  among  the  mountains  of  New  Hampshire  are  varied, 
but  we  can  only  glance  at  them  in  passing.  The  parts  of  the  White  Mountains  which 
are  most  frequented  do  not  by  any  means  monopolize  the  beautiful  landscape  visions 
scattered  through  the  State.  Mount  Washington  is  not  the  only  peak  worth  climbing, 
nor  are  Conway  Meadows  the  only  dream-land.  The  Saco  and  the  Pemigewasset  lapse 
down  from  dizzier  heights,  and  wimple  through  the  foreground  of  grander  pictures  ; 
but  all  over  the  State  the  coquettish  streams  run  on  from  beauty  to  beauty  ;  the 
broad,  green  intervals  are  flecked  with  the  shadows  of  isolated  elms  and  fringed  with 
the  water-side  willows,  and  lonely  peaks  stand  up  as  landmarks  of  the  Almighty,  or 
look  off  beyond  valley  and  village,  beyond  shore  and  island,  far  out  upon  the  broad 
Atlantici  The  points  of  observation,  from  which  the  picturesque  and  the  poetical  in 
landscape  may  be  enjoyed,  are  numerous  in  almost  every  township.  The  mountain- 
wall,  with  snowy  cope,  does  not  always  rise  directly  before  you  ;  but  the  brook  for  ever 
tugs  at  its  bowlder,  and  the  widening  water  keeps  its  youthful  purity,  and  the  power- 
ful river  tumbles  and  dashes  itself  for  pastime  and  demands  a  task,  and  the  roots  of 
the  elm  and  the  birch  seek  out  the  kindly  crevices  of  the  confused  granite,  and 
meadow  and  midland  and  highland  terrace  out  the  landscape,  and  slope  and  curve 
cast  themselves  into  the  company  with  a  graceful  confidence  of  being  never  out  of 
place.  The  broken  and  erratic  soil,  like  the  typical  poet,  produces  little  of  sordid 
value,  but  much  of  lasting  beauty,  and  ministers  less  to  man's  comfort,  but  more  to 
his  enjoyment. 


332  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

A  native  and  life-long  resident  of  Concord,  who  had  traveled  extensively  in  Europe, 
discovered  a  few  years  ago,  within  three  miles  of  his  home,  a  view  which  he  seriously 
pronounced  more  pleasing  than  any  he  remembered  across  the  ocean.  Patriotism  may 
have  prompted  the  emphasis ;  but  the  remark  was  by  no  means  absurd.  Turning  into 
an  unfrequented  road,  he  beheld  a  vast  landscape  before  and  beneath  him,  set  in  a 
frame  of  successive,  independent  mountains,  which,  though  at  widely-varying  distances, 
like  the  stars  of  heaven,  rounded  seemingly  to  a  perfect  arc.  At  the  extreme  left 
were  the  symmetrical  Uncanoonucs,  and  then  in  order  came  Wachusett,  the  Frances- 
town  group,  Monadnock,  an  unknown  mountain,  the  Mink  Hills,  Sunapee,  Kearsarge, 
Ragged  Mountain,  Cardigan,  and  the  Franconia  range. 

From  the  summit  of  Mount  Kearsarge,  in  Merrimac  County,  one  of  the  finest 
views  in  America  may  be  obtained.  It  stands  alone,  in  the  northwest  part  of  the 
county,  and  is  a  sort  of  French-roofed  mountain,  forty-five  hundred  feet  high,  with 
a  kitchen-part  half  as  high.  From  the  railway-station  a  ride  of  four  miles,  over  a 
road  not  unpleasantly  steep,  brings  you  to  a  public-house,  built  in  a  grove  on  the 
crest  of  the  lower  mountain,  and  appropriately  named  the  Winslow  House,  after  the 
commander  of  the  vessel  that  sunk  the  Alabama.  This  road  is  skirted  all  the  way 
with  farms,  or,  at  least,  rocky  fields  laid  out  in  squares,  and  carefully  fenced  with  the 
too  abundant  stone  that  covers  their  surface.  Sheep  and  goats  pick  their  living 
among  the  rocks,  with  a  commendable  but  pathetic  industry  ;  while  the  bleak  farm- 
houses that  are  scattered  all  along  to  the  lower  summit  present  a  living  conundrum 
which  no  man  can  answer.  By  the  road  lie  granite  bowlders  in  profusion,  of  aston- 
ishing variety  in  colors  and  texture.  Some  of  them,  with  broken  surfaces  flashing  in 
the  sun,  seem  like  jewels  for  a  giant.  Around  them  grow  masses  of  golden-rod,  gen- 
tian, and  immortelles  ;  and  at  brief  intervals  are  veteran  apple-trees,  moss-bound  but 
thrifty,  their  loaded  branches  showing  that  no  school-boys  pass  this  way.  When  you 
•  were  at  the  station,  the  hills  around  seemed  of  respectable  height  and  quite  interest- 
ing ;  but,  as  you  rise  with  the  road,  you  see  they  are  only  the  little  fellows  on  the 
first  form,  as  over  their  shoulders  begin  to  peer  one  row  -after  another  of  the  larger 
fellows  on  the  forms  behind.  The  road  traverses  the  north,  northwest,  and  west  sides 
of  the  mountain  ;  and  among  the  first  of  the  pleasant  surprises  are  the  little  ponds 
and  lakes  that  gleam  out  in  every  direction.  The  most  noticeable,  perhaps,  is  Pleasant 
Pond,  apparently  circular,  with  Scytheville  on  its  hither  margin.  From  the  Winslow 
House  we  have  such  a  prospect  as  many  tourists  are  disappointed  at  not  finding 
among  the  White  Mountains — a  view,  from  a  moderate  elevation,  over  slopes  and  val- 
leys not  so  far  off  as  to  become  indistinct  or  lose  their  smaller  features.  From  this 
point,  a  faint  path  leads  directly  up  the  steep  ascent  to  the  summit  of  the  mountain. 
Sometimes  it  passes  through  groves  of  evergreen,  whose  roots  and  boughs  make  steps 
and  banister ;  sometimes  through  the  dry'  bed  of  the  spring-runnel,  that  has  carried 
off  the  successive  snows  of  centuries  ;  and  sometimes  over  a  smooth,  bare  ledge  of 
native  granite,  with  precarious  footholds  at  the  lines  of  cleavage.  The  summit  is  bald 
and  brown  ;  and  the  rock,  at  its  more  prominent  points,  is  water-worn,  like  the  piers 


THE  MOUNTAINS   OF  THE  NORTH. 


333 


of  an  ancient  bridge.  Here,  in  a  clear  day,  we  may  look  down  upon  fully  one  half 
of  New  Hampshire,  and  a  portion  of  Vermont.  The  land,  with  its  alternating  woods 
and  fields,  looks  as  if  the  tawny  skin  of  some  enormous  leopard  had  been  thrown  over 
it  in  crumpled  folds;  and  two  round  ponds,  gleaming  between  us  and  the  sun,  might 


be  taken  for  the  eyes  of  the  monster,  still  unclosed.  Mountains  notch  the  horizon  on 
every  side.  To  the  north,  Lafayette,  with  its  scalloped  summit,  and  the  sharper  peaks 
of  the  Franconia  range,  are  distinct  and  almost  neighborly ;  while  to  the  right  of 


334 


OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 


them,  a  little  more  distant  and  dignified,  Mount  Washington  towers  over  all.  In  the 
south  rise  Monadnock  and  Wachusett ;  and  in  the  west,  Ascutney  and  Mansfield.  And 
all  around  are  uncounted  peaks,  unnamed,  or  unknown.  To  the  east,  the  course  of 


the  Merrimac  may  be  traced  by  its  broken  bluffs  of  yellow  sand ;  and  in  its  valley 
are  the  symmetrical  Uncanoonucs,  near  Manchester.  About  thirty  ponds  or  lakes, 
many  of  them  very  beautifully  nestled  among  the  hills,  may  be  counted.  And  in  every 


THE  MOUNTAINS   OF  THE  NORTH.  335 

direction  the  little  villages,  resting  in  the  valleys,  or  clinging  to  the  hill-sides,  with 
their  invariable  white  buildings  glimmering  in  the  sunlight,  look  like  quiet  cities  of 
the  dead  amid  the  expanse  of  natural  beauty  and  life. 

The  number  of  birthplaces  of  noted  men.  that  are  in  sight  from  the  top  of  Kear- 
sarge  is  remarkable.  On  the  eastern  side  you  look  almost  directly  down  upon  a  dis- 
trict ten  miles  square,  in  which  were  born  Ezekiel  and  Daniel  Webster,  William  Pitt 
Fessenden,  John  A.  Dix,  Farmer  the  electrician,  C.  C.  Coffin,  the  well-known  traveler 
and  correspondent,  the  Greenes  of  the  "  Boston  Post,"  and  the  Bartlett  family  (includ- 
ing Ichabod),  famous  in  New  Hampshire.  United  States  Senator  Wilson  was  born  in 
Farmington,  Lewis  Cass  in  Exeter,  United  States  Senator  Grimes  in  Deering,  United 
States  Senator  Chandler  in  Bedford,  Leyi  Woodbury  in  Portsmouth,  Horace  Greeley 
in  Amherst,  General  Butler  in  Deerfield,  Franklin  Pierce  in  Hillsborough,  Chief-Justice 
Chase  in  Cornish,  and  Chief-Justice  Clifford,  of  Maine,  in  Rumney ;  and  all  these 
places  may  be  seen  from  Kearsarge. 

Peterboro,  in  the  western  part  of  Hillsboro  County,  a  dozen  miles  from  the  Mas- 
sachusetts border,  has  been  heretofore  entirely  out  of  the  lines  of  travel ;  but  the 
completion  of  a  railroad  from  Winchendon  to  the  village  of  Peterboro  a  few  years 
since  now  makes  the  latter  easy  of  access.  It  is  near  the  head-waters  of  the  Con- 
toocook,  the  largest  tributary  of  the  Merrimac.  One  of  our  engravings  represents  the 
view  of  Monadnock  from  North  Peterboro,  with  the  Contoocook  in  the  foreground. 
The  distance  represented  in  the  picture  is  about  ten  miles.  Monadnock  is  3,718 
feet  high,  and,  though  far  inland,  can  be  seen  from  the  ocean.  Its  base  occupies 
an  area  measuring  about  five  miles  north  and  south  by  about  three  miles  east  and 
west.  The  extreme  peak  is  what  is  known  as  Grand  Monadnock.  It  was  the  inspi- 
ration of  one  of  the  best  of  those  minor  American  poems,  which  were  considered 
good  until  Lowell  and  Whittier  gave  us  a  higher  range  of  national  song.  We  refer 
to  Mr.  Peabody's  poem,  commencing — 

"  Upon  the  far-off  mountain's  brow. 

The  angry  storm  had  ceased  to  beat." 

Perhaps  two  of  the  best  and  most  appropriate  stanzas  will  not  be  out  of  place  here : 

"  I've  seen  him,  when  the  morning  sun 

Burned  like  a  bale-fire  on  the  height ; 
I've  seen  him,  when  the  day  was  done. 

Bathed  in  the  evening's  crimson  light. 
I've  seen  him  at  the  midnight  hour, 

When  all  the  world  were  calmly  sleeping, 
Like  some  stern  sentry  in  his  tower, 

His  weary  watch  in  silence  keeping. 

"  And  there,  for  ever  firm  and  clear, 
His  lofty  turret  upward  springs ; 


336  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

He  owns  no  rival  summit  near, 

No  sovereign  but  the  King  of  kings. 
Thousands  of  nations  have  passed  by, 

Thousands  of  years  unknown  to  story, 
And  still  his  aged  walls  on  high 

He  rears  in  melancholy  glory." 

The  tourist  is  generally  hurried  through  Conwaj  to  the  more  famous  and  alluring 
North  Conway,  five  miles  beyond.  But  if  he  stop  either  in  Conway  or  in  West 
Ossipee,  on  his  way  to  the  heart  of  the  mountains,  he  will  find  charming  landscapes 
that  will  richly  reward  a  short  delay  in  reaching  the  mountains.  One  of  them  spe- 
cially worth  seeing  is  at  the  confluence  of  the  Saco  and  Swift  Kivers  at  Conwav. 
The  spectator  is  looking  directly  west,  with  the  famous  Chocorua  and  its  outlying 
range  at  the  left  of  the  picture,  and  Mote  Mountain  at  the  right.  Chocorua  is  3,600 
feet  high ;  Mote  Mountain,  3,200.  The  stream  spanned  by  the  bridge  is  Swift  River. 

East  Mountain,  in  the  town  of  Temple,  seen  from  Peterboro,  presents  also  a  very 
striking  view.  The  foreground  and  middle  distance  may  be  taken  as  a  fair  specimen 
of  what  may  be  seen  from  thousands  of  ordinary  door-yards  in  New  Hampshire.  A 
spot  two  miles  west  of  the  capital,  commanding  very  much  such  a  view,  was  chosen 
by  the  late  ex-President  Pierce  as  the  site  of  his  permanent  home.  But  the  loss  of 
his  wife  caused  him  to  relinquish  the  design  of  building  on  it ;  and  to-day  the  wide, 
sloping  lawn,  uncut  by  gravel-walk  or  wheel-marks,  the  houseless  grove  of  forest- 
trees,  and  the  long,  curving  sweep  of  granite  wall,  flanked  by  gate-way  towers  at 
either  end,  excite  the  wonder  and  the  question  of  the  passer-by. 

When  we  leave  the  rugged  masses  of  the  New  Hampshire  hills  and  pass  into 
Vermont,  we  find  the  mountain-forms  characterized  by  far  different  features.  Ver- 
mont is,  and  perhaps  ever  will  be,  the  most  purely  rural  of  all  the  older  States. 
Though  bordered  by  Lake  Champlain,  and  pretty  well  supplied  with  railways,  she 
seems  to  be  aside  from  any  great  thoroughfare,  and  to  hold  her  greenness  nearly 
unsoiled  by  the  dust  of  travel  and  traffic.  Between  the  unyielding  granite  masses  of 
the  White  Mountain  range  on  the  one  side  and  the  Adirondack  Wilderness  on  the 
other,  lies  this  happy  valley  of  simple  contentment,  with  its  mellower  soil  and  gentler 
water-courses,  its  thriftier  farmers  and  more  numerous  herds,  its  marble  ledges,  its 
fertile  uplands,  and  its  own  mountains  of  gentler  slope  and  softened  outline. 

Nearly  through  the  middle  runs  the  Green  Mountain  range,  giving  rise  to  a  thou- 
sand murmuring  rivulets  and  modest  rivers,  that  lapse  down  through  green-browed 
hills  and  crumbling  limestone-cliffs  and  sunny  meadows,  now  turned  quickly  by  a 
mossy  ledge,  and  now  skirting  a  bit  of  forest  until  they  lose  themselves  on  the  one 
side  in  the  deep-channeled  Connecticut,  or  on  the  other  in  the  historic  waters  of  Lake 
Champlain.  Quiet  industry,  pastoral  peace,  and  home-like  comfort — these  are  the 
suggestions  that  impress  the  mind  of  the  visitor  among  the  valley  farms  and  pleasant 
villages  of  the  Green  Mountain  State.  Here  is  a  land,  one  thinks,  where  wealth  will 
rarely  accumulate,  and  man  ought  never  to  decay,  whose  dwellers  may  for  ever  praise 


THE  MOUNTAINS   OF.  THE  NORTH. 


337, 


God  for  the  greenness  of  the  hills,  the  fertility  of  the  soil,  the  delicious  atmosphere, 
the  purity  of  the  streams,  and  the  mellow  sunshine. 

According  to   the  accepted  theory  of    mountain-formation  —  that    elevated  ranges 


have  been  produced  by  a  sort  of  tidal- wave  of  the  earth's  once  plastic   crust  —  the 
Green   Mountains  must  be  the  softened  undulation  that  followed  the  greater  billow 

which  crested   and  broke   in    Mount  Washington   and    Mount   Lafayette,   leaving  its 
22 


338 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


form  for  ever  fixed  in  the  abrupt  and  rugged  declivities  of  the  White  Hills  and  the 
Franconia  group.  The  Green  Mountains  form  the  northern  portion  of  what  is 
known  as  the  Appalachian  Chain.  '  Their  wooded  sides  obtained  for  them  from  the 


early  French  settlers  the  term  Monts  Verts,  and  from  this  phrase  is  derived  the 
name  of  the  State  in  which  they  are  situated.  The  continuation  of  the  range 
through  Massachusetts  and  Connecticut  is  also  known  to  geographers  as  the  Green 


THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  THE  NORTH.  339 

Mountains,  but  by  the  inhabitants  of  those  States  other  names  are  applied  to  them 
— as  the  Hoosac  Mountains,  in  Massachusetts,  for  that  portion  lying  near  the  Con- 
necticut River,  and  constituting  the  most  elevated  portion  of  the  State  between  this 
river  and  the  Housatonic  ;  and  the  Taconic  Mountains  for  the  western  part  of  the 
range,  which  lies  along  the  New  York  line.  These  ranges  extend  into  Vermont  near 
the  southwest  corner  of  the  State,  and  join  in  a  continuous  line  of  hills  that  pass 
through  the  western  portion  of  the  State  nearly  to  Montpelier.  Without  attaining 
very  great  elevation,  these  hills  form  an  unbroken  water-shed  between  the  affluents 
of  the  Connecticut  on  the  east,  and  the  Hudson  and  Lake  Champlain  on  the  west, 
and  about  equidistant  between  them.  South  from  Montpelier  two  ranges  extend — 
one  toward  the  northeast,  nearly  parallel  with  the  Connecticut  River,  dividing  the 
waters  flowing  east  from  those  flowing  west ;  and  the  other,  which  is  the  higher  and 
more  broken,  extending  nearly  north,  and  near  Lake  Champlain.  Through  this  range 
the  Onion,  Lamoille,  and  Winooski  Bivers  make  their  way  toward  the  lake.  Among 
the  principal  peaks  are  Mount  Mansfield,  Camel's  Hump,  both  situated  near  Burling- 
ton ;  Ellington's,  near  Rutland ;  and  Ascutney,  in  Windsor  County,  near  the  Con- 
necticut. 

Mount  Mansfield,  the  highest  of  the  Green  Mountain  range,  is  situated  near  the 
northern  extremity,  about  twenty  miles,  in  a  direct  line  east,  or  a  little  north  of  east, 
from  Burlington,  on  Lake  Champlain.  This  mountain  has  been  less  popular  among 
tourists  and  pleasure-seekers  than  the  White  Mountains  and  the  Catskills,  principally 
because  its  attractions  have  been  little  known.  The  pencil  of  GifEord  has  made  it 
familiar  to  art-lovers  ;  but  literature  has  so  far  done  little  toward  making  its  peaks, 
cliffs,  and  ravines,  known  to  the  general  public.  That  it  possesses  points  of  interest 
and  picturesque  features  quite  as  worthy  the  appreciation  of  lovers  of  Nature  as  the 
White  Mountains  or  the  Catskills  do,  our  illustration  fully  shows.  Of  recent  years,  it 
has  been  more  visited  than  formerly ;  and  a  good  hotel  at  Stowe,  five  miles  from  its 
base,  has  now  every  summer  its  throng  of  tourists.  Mansfield  is  conveniently  reached 
by  rail  from  Burlington  to  Waterbury  Station,  on  the  Vermont  Central  Railway ;  and 
thence  by  Concord  coaches  ten  miles  to  Stowe.  From  Stowe  a  carriage-road  reaches 
to  the  summit  of  the  mountain. 

As  in  the  case  of  nearly  all  mountains,  there  is  some  difference  in  the  vari- 
ous estimates  of  the  height  of  Mansfield,  the  most  generally  accepted  statement 
being  4,348  feet — a  few  hundred  feet  in  excess  of  the  highest  of  the  Catskills. 
Popularly,  the  summit  of  Mansfield  is  likened  to  the  up-turned  face  of  a  giant, 
showing  the  Nose,  the  Chin,  and  the  Lip.  It  is  not  difficult,  with  a  little  aid  of 
the  imagination,  to  trace  this  profile  as  the  mountain  is  viewed  from  Stowe.  The 
Nose,  so  called,  has  a  projection  of  four  hundred  feet,  and  the  Chin  all  the  decision 
of  character  indicated  by  a  forward  thrust  of  eight  hundred  feet.  The  distance 
from  Nose  to  Chin  is  a  mile  and  a  half. 

The  ascent  of  the  mountain  is  not  difficult,  which  the  hardy  pedestrian  would 
be  wise  to  attempt  on  foot.  Carriages  from  Stowe  make  the  journey  at  regular 


340 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


Glimpse  of  Lake  Ckamplain,  from  Mount  Mansfield. 


THE  MOUNTAINS   OF  THE  NORTH.  341 

periods.  The  ride  up  the  steep  roadway  is  full  of  interest,  the  changing  views 
affording  momentarily  new  and  beautiful  pictures.  The  mountain,  until  near  the 
summit,  is  very  heavily  timbered  ;  and  the  glimpses  downward,  through  entangle- 
ments of  trees  into  the  deep  ravines,  are  full  of  superb  beauty.  Neighboring  peaks 
continually  change  their  positions ;  lesser  ones  are  no  longer  obscured  by  their  taller 
brothers  ;  while  successive  ravines  yawn  beneath  us.  Now  the  road  passes  over  a 
terraced  solid  rock,  and  now  it  jolts  over  the  crazy  scaffolding  of  a  corduroy-bridge 
that  spans  a  chasm  in  the  mountain-side ;  soon  the  forest-growths  begin  to  thin  out 
perceptibly ;  and  at  last  we  reach  the  Summit  House,  amid  masses  of  bare  rocks,  at 
the  foot  of  the  huge  cliff  known  as  the  Nose. 

The  path  up  the  Nose,  on  its  western  side,  is  quite  as  rugged  as  the  ordinary 
climber  will  wish  ;  but,  with  the  help  of  the  cable,  its  ascent  may  be  accomplished. 
The  view  from  the  top  is  one  of  the  finest  in  our  country.  To  the  eastward  are 
the  White  Mountains,  dwindled  by  distance.  The  isolated  and  symmetrical  form  of 
Ascutney  rises  to  the  southeast.  Southward  are  Camel's  Hump  and  Ellington's  Peak, 
and  innumerable  smaller  elevations  of  the  Green  Mountain  range — respectable  heights, 
but  here  losing  much  of  their  individual  importance  amid  these  surroundings.  West- 
ward lie  the  lowlands  with  sparkling  streams  winding  among  the  farms  and  for- 
ests ;  and  beyond  them  the  blue  expanse  of  Lake  Champlain  with  the  misty  ridges 
of  the  Adirondacks  serrating  the  distant  horizon.  Far  northward  are  Jay  Peak 
and  Owl's  Head,  the  stately  St.  Lawrence,  the  spires  of  Montreal,  a  score  of  name- 
less mountains,  and  the  shining  waters  of  Lake  Memphremagog.  Oftentimes  the 
observer  from  the  top  of  Mount  Mansfield  finds  the  view  on  every  side  shut  in  by 
a  dense  gray  vapor,  but,  when  the  misty  veil  lifts,  the  scene  is  one  of  unsurpassable 
beauty. 

Smugglers'  Notch  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  features  of  this  mountain.  In 
the  far  W'est  this  notch  would  be  called  a  canon.  It  differs  from  the  canons  of 
the  Sierras  mainly  in  being  more  picturesque  and  beautiful — not  so  ruggedly  grand 
as  those  rocky  walls,  it  must  be  understood,  but  the  abundant  moisture  has  filled  it 
with  superb  forest-growths,  has  covered  all  the  rocks  with  ferns  and  lichens,  and  has 
painted  the  stone  with  exquisite  tints.  The  sides  of  the  Notch  mount  to  an  altitude 
of  about  a  thousand  feet,  the  upper  verge  of  the  cliffs  rising  above  the  fringe  of 
mountain-trees  that  cling  to  their  sides.  The  floor  of  the  Notch  is  covered  with  im- 
mense bowlders  and  fallen  masses  of  rocks,  which  in  this  half-lighted  vault  have  partly 
crumbled,  and  given  foothold  for  vegetation.  Mosses  and  ferns  cover  them,  and  in 
many  instances  great  trees  have  found  nourishment  in  the  crevices ;  sometimes  huge, 
gnarled  roots  encircling  the  rocks  like  immense  anacondas.  The  painter  could  find 
no  more  delightful  studies  in  color  than  this  scene  affords.  At  the  time  visited  by 
the  artist  there  had  been  a  three  days'  rain.  The  stream  that  flowed  through  the 
gorge  was  swollen  into  a  torrent.  Over  the  top  of  every  cliff  came  pouring  extem- 
porized water-falls  and  cascades,  while  the  foliage,  of  fairly  tropical  abundance,  shone 
with  a  brilliant  intensity  of  green.  Smugglers'  Notch  has  a  hundred  poetical  charms 


342  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

that  deserve  for  it  a  better  name.  It  is  so  called  because  once  used  as  a  hiding- 
place  for  goods  smuggled  over  the  Canada  border. 

The  Adirondack  Mountains,  whose  tops  may  be  easily  descried  on  a  clear  day  from 
the  summit  of  Mansfield,  inclose  one  of  the  most  picturesque  and  delightful  regions 
in  North  America — a  region  which  has  of  late  years  attracted  great  numbers  of  visit- 
ors, who  find,  in  its  bracing  atmosphere  and  fine  scenery,  charms  which  fully  recom- 
pense them  for  the  trifling  fatigue  and  exposure  necessary  in  surveying  its  beautiful 
wilds.  This  remarkable  tract,  unknown  thirty  years  ago  except  to  a  few  lumbermen 
and  trappers,  lies  between  Lakes  George  and  Champlain  on  the  east,  and  the  St.  Law- 
rence on  the  northwest.  Five  ranges  of  mountains  traverse  this  region  from  south- 
west to  northeast.  Though  none  of  the  peaks  attain  the  height  of  the  loftiest  sum- 
mits of  the  White  Mountains,  or  the  Black  Mountain  of  North  Carolina,  the  average 
elevation  surpasses  that  of  any  range  east  of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  The  entire 
number  of  mountains  in  this  region,  which  in  area  exceeds  the  State  of  Connecticut, 
is  supposed  to  be  not  less  than  five  hundred.  The  highest  of  these  peaks  are  known 
as  Tahawus  or  Marcy,  Whiteface,  Dix,  Seward,  Colden,  Mclntyre,  Santanoni,  Snowy 
Mountain,  and  Pharaoh,  all  of  them  being  more  than  five  thousand  feet  in  height. 
They  are  all  wild,  savage,  and  clothed  in  primeval  forest,  except  on  the  stony  peaks, 
where  mosses,  grasses,  and  dwarf-plants  only  are  found.  These  highest  summits  are 
supposed  by  geologists  to  be  the  first  land  on  the  globe  which  showed  itself  above 
the  waters,  belonging  to  what  is  known  as  the  Laurentian  formation. 

Scattered  through  these  mountains  lie  more  than  a  thousand  beautiful  lakes  and 
ponds,  occupying  a  general  level  of  about  fifteen  hundred  feet  above  the  sea — the 
highest  of  them,  Avalanche  Lake,  being  more  than  twice  that  elevation.  Some  of 
these  beautiful  sheets  of  water  are  twenty  miles  long,  while  others  only  cover  a  few 
acres.  Steep,  densely-wooded  mountains  rise  from  their  very  verge ;  picturesque  bays 
and  points  vary  their  outlines ;  foaming  brooks  tumble  in  on  every  side  in  cascades 
or  through  ravines ;  and  the  lake-shallows  are  fringed  with  grasses  and  flowering 
plants ;  sometimes,  indeed,  blooming  in  acres  of  water-lilies.  So  lovely  and  romantic, 
indeed,  are  all  the  features  of  the  scenery,  that  we  should  have  to  wander  far  to  find 
its  match.  An  American  artist,  traveling  in  Switzerland  some  years  ago,  wrote  home 
that,  having  journeyed  over  all  Switzerland  and  the  Rhine  and  Rhdne  regions,  he  had 
not  met  with  scenery  which,  judged  from  a  purely  artistic  point  of  view,  combined 
so  many  beauties  in  connection  with  so  much  grandeur  as  the  lakes,  mountains,  and 
forests  of  the  Adirondack  region  presented  to  the  gazer's  eye.  The  grand  labyrinth 
of  lakes  is  intertwined  by  an  intricate  system  of  rivers  and  brooks.  The  Saranac, 
the  Ausable,  the  Boquet,  and  the  Raquette  rise  in  and  flow  through  this  wilderness, 
and  in  its  most  gloomy  recesses  are  found  the  springs  of  the  Hudson. 

With  the  exception  of  the  meadows  on  the  rivers,  and  the  broad  expanses  of  the 
lakes  and  ponds,  the  whole  surface  of  the  North  Wilderness,  as  the  region  is  often 
called,  is  covered  with  a  tangled  forest.  In  these  woods  and  mountain  solitudes  are 
found  the  panther,  the  black  bear,  the  wolf,  the  wild-cat,  the  lynx,  and  the  wolverene, 


THE  MOUNTAINS   OF  THE  NORTH. 


343 


The  Adirondack  Woods. 


while  deer  and  every  variety  of  small  game  tempts  the  skill  and  enterprise  of  the 
hunter.  The  lakes  and  brooks  swarm  with  trout,  in  many  cases  of  large  size,  the 
salmon-trout  of  the  lakes  often  reaching  the  weight  of  twenty  pounds.  Not  more 
than  one  third  of  this  grand  wilderness  has  yet  been  fully  explored. 

The  Adirondack  region  is  full  of  curiosities,  which  perplex  the  scientific  man  and 


344 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


The  Ausable  CTiaem. 


delight  the  eye  of  the  in- 
telligent tourist.  There  is, 
for  example,  Lake  Paradox, 
whose  outlet  in  high  water 
flows  into  the  lake.  There 
is  a  pond  on  the  summit 
of  Mount  Joseph  whose  rim 
is  close  to  the  verge  of  the 
descent.  On  the  top  of 
Wallface  are  three  lakes, 
which  discharge  their  wa- 
ters into  the  St.  Lawrence 
by  the  Cold  and  Raquette 
Rivers,  into  Lake  Cham- 
plain  by  the  Ausable,  and 
into  the  Atlantic  by  the 
Hudson.  The  enormous 
rocks  of  the  Indian  Pass 
stand  on  sharp  edges  and 
steep  slopes,  and  look  so 
uncertain  that  the  very 
deer,  in  rubbing  off  their 
yearly  antlers  against  them, 
might  topple  them  head- 
long. Yet  they  defy  all 
the  agencies  of  Nature,  and 
are  plumed  with  magnifi- 
cent trees,  and  in  the  in- 
tricacies of  the  caverns  un- 
derneath them  unmelted  ice 
gleams  all  the  year  through. 
Throughout  all  this  wild 
country  various  springs  and 
brooks  commingle  their  wa- 
ters and  dash  over  cliffs  in 
charming  cascades,  which 
seem  a  perfect  lace-work  of 
shining  spray. 

Among  the  most  strik- 
ing scenes  in  this  region 
are  the  Chasm  of  the  Au- 
sable and  the  Indian  Pass, 


THE  MOUNTAINS   OF  THE  NORTH.  345 

both  of  which  are  well  described  by  the  poet  Alfred  B.  Street,  who  has  contributed 
so  much  to  the  literature  of  the  Adirondacks.  Of  the  former  he  writes  : 

"At  North  Elba  we  crossed  a  bridge  where  the  Ausable  came  winding  down, 
and  then  followed  its  bank  to  the  northeast,  over  a  good,  hard  wheel-track,  gen- 
erally descending,  with  the  thick  woods  almost  continually  around  us,  and  the  little 
river  shooting  darts  of  light  at  us  through  the  leaves.  At  length  a  broad  summit 
rising  to  a  taller  one  broke  above  the  foliage  at  our  right,  and  at  the  same  time  a 
gigantic  mass  of  rock  and  forest  saluted  us  on  our  left,  the  giant  portals  of  the 
Notch.  We  entered.  The  pass  suddenly  shrank,  pressing  the  rocky  river  and  rough 
road  close  together.  It  was  a  chasm  cloven  boldly  through  the  flank  of  Whiteface. 
On  each  side  towered  the  mountains,  but  at  our  left  the  range  rose  in  still  sublimer 
altitude  with  grand  precipices  like  a  majestic  wall,  or  a  line  of  palisades  climbing 
sheer  from  the  half-way  forest  upward.  The  crowded  rows  of  pines  along  the 
broken  and  wavy  crest  were  diminished  to  a  mere  fringe.  The  whole  prospect 
except  the  rocks  was  dark  with  the  thickest,  wildest  woods.  As  we  rode  slowly 
through  the  still  narrowing  gorge,  the  mountain  soared  higher  and  higher,  as  if  to 
scale  the  clouds,  presenting  truly  a  terrific  majesty.  I  shrank  within  myself  ;  I 
seemed  to  dwindle  beneath  it.  Something  akin  to  dread  pervaded  the  scene.  The 
mountains  appeared  knitting  their  brows  into  one  threatening  frown  at  our  daring 
intrusion  into  their  stately  solitudes.  Nothing  seemed  native  to  the  awful  landscape, 
but  the  plunge  of  the  torrent  and  the  scream  of  the  eagle.  Even  the  wild,  shy  deer 
drinking  at  the  stream  would  have  been  out  of  keeping.  Below  at  our  left  the  dark 
Ausable  dashed  onward  with  hoarse,  foreboding  murmurs,  in  harmony  with  the  lone- 
liness and  wild  ness  of  the  spot." 

The  Indian  Pass  is  a  striking  gorge  in  the  wildest  part  of  the  mountains, 
which  the  Indians  rightly  named  the  Dismal  Wilderness.  But  few  portions  of  it 
have  been  visited  by  white  men,  and  it  is  still  the  secure  lair  of  the  larger  wild 
beasts,  such  as  the  bear,  the  panther,  and  the  great  gray  wolf.  Here  in  the  center 
of  the  pass  are  the  ice-like  springs  of  the  Ausable,  which  flows  into  Lake  Champlain, 
and  whose  waters  reach  the  St.  Lawrence  and  thence  the  ocean,  several  hundred 
miles  from  the  mouth  of  the  Hudson ;  yet  so  close  are  the  springs  of  the  two  rivers 
that  the  wild-cat  drinking  the  waters  of  the  one  may  bathe  his  hind-feet  in  the 
other.  The  main  stream  of  the  Ausable  flows  from  the  northeast  portal  of  the  pass, 
and  the  main  stream  of  the  Hudson  from  the  southwest. 

Mr.  Street  thus  speaks  of  the  view  from  the  top  of  Mount  Marcy,  or  Tahawus, 
to  reach  which  is  a  dangerous  and  difficult  climb : 

"  What  a  multitude  of  peaks !  The  whole  horizon  is  full  to  repletion.  As  a 
guide  said,  'Where  there  wasn't  a  big  peak  a  little  one  was  stuck  up.'  Really  true; 
and  how  savage,  how  wild  !  Close  on  my  right  rises  Haystack,  a  truncated  cone,  the 
top  shaved  apparently  to  a  smooth  level.  To  the  west  soars  the  sublime  slope  of 
Mount  Golden,  with  Mclntyre  looking  over  its  shoulder ;  a  little  above  point  the 
purple  peaks  of  Mount  Seward,  a  grand  mountain  cathedral,  with  the  tops  of  Mounts 


346 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


Henderson  and  Santanoni  in  misty  sapphire.  At  the  southwest  shimmers  a  dreary 
summit — Blue  Mountain ;  while  to  the  south  stands  the  near  and  lesser  top  of  Sky- 
light. Beyond  at  the  southeast  wave  the  stern  crests  of  Boreas  Mountain.  Thence 


ascends  the  Dial  with  its  leaning  cone  like  the  tower  of  Pisa ;  and  close  'to  it  swells 
the  majesty  of  Dix's  Peak,  shaped  like  a  slumbering  lion.  Thence  stagger  the  wild, 
savage,  splintered  tops  of  Gothic  Mountain  at  the  Lower  Ausable  Pond — a  ragged 


THE  MOUNTAINS   OF  THE  NORTH.  347 

thunder-cloud  —  linking  themselves  on  the  east  with  the  Noon-mark  and  Koger's 
Mountains,  that  watch  over  the  valley  of  Keene.  To  the  northeast  rise  the  Edmonds 
Pond  summits — the  mountain-picture  closed  by  the  sharp  crest  of  old  Whiteface  on 
the  north,  stately  outpost  of  the  Adirondacks.  Scattered  through  this  picture  are 
manifold  expanses  of  water — those  almost  indispensable  eyes  of  a  landscape.  That 
glitter  at  the  north  by  old  Whiteface  is  Lake  Placid  ;  and  the  spangle  Bennet's 
Pond.  Yon  streak  running  south  from  Mount  Seward,  as  if  a  silver  vein  had  been 
opened  in  the  stern  mountain,  is  Long  Lake  ;  and  between  it  and  our  vision  shine 
Lakes  Henderson  and  Sanford,  with  the  sparkles  of  Lakes  Harkness  and  the  twin- 
lakes  Jamie  and  Sallie.  At  the  southwest  glances  beautiful  Boreas  Pond  with  its 
green  beaver  meadow  and  a  mass  of  rock  at  the  edge.  To  the  southeast  glisten  the 
Upper  and  Lower  Ausable  Ponds  ;  and  farther  off,  in  the  same  direction,  Mud  and 
Clear  Ponds  by  the  Dial  and  Dix's  Peak.  But  what  is  that  long,  long  gleam  at  the 
east  ?  Lake  Champlain !  And  that  glittering  lake  north  ?  The  St.  Lawrence  above 
the  dark  sea  of  the  Canadian  woods ! " 

A  little  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century  since,  Adirondack,  as  this  region  is  often 
called,  was  almost  as  unknown  a  land  as  the  heart  of  Africa.  But  of  late  years  a 
regular  stream  of  tourists  and  sportsmen  has  yearly  poured  into  this  picturesque  and 
most  interesting  wilderness.  In  summer  the  innumerable  lakes  are  skimmed  by  the 
boats  of  travelers  in  search  of  game,  of  health,  or  of  the  beautiful  in  Nature.  All 
traveling  here  is  done  by  boats  of  small  size  and  slight  build,  rowed  by  a  single  guide, 
and  made  so  light  that  the  fairy  craft  can  be  lifted  from  the  water  and  carried  on 
the  shoulders  from  pond  to  pond.  By  thus  making  portages,  or  carries,  as  these  jour- 
neys from  lake  to  lake  and  from  stream  to  stream  are  called,  one  may  travel  through 
the  whole  length  of  the  great  Adirondack  wilderness.  Competent  guides,  who  will 
supply  boats,  tents,  etc.,  may  always  be  had  at  the  taverns,  which  are  regular  "in- 
telligence-offices "  for  the  hardy  woodsmen.  The  fare  on  which  the  Adirondack 
traveler  lives  for  the  most  part  consists  of  trout  and  venison,  than  which  there  is  no 
more  epicurean  food  when  cooked  by  woodland  skill  and  sauced  with  a  woodland  ap- 
petite. All  the  essential  needs  of  an  outfit  for  a  two  months'  trip  in  the  woods  are 
included  in  the  following  articles :  A  complete  undersuit  of  woolen  or  flannel,  with  a 
change  ;  stout  trousers,  vest,  and  coat ;  a  felt  hat ;  two  pairs  of  woolen  stockings ;  a 
pair  of  common  winter  boots  and  camp-shoes ;  a  rubber  blanket  or  coat ;  a  rifle,  hunt- 
ing-knife, belt,  and  pint  tin  cup ;  a  pair  of  warm  blankets,  towel,  soap,  etc.  Thus 
equipped,  one  fond  of  out-door  life  may  spend  a  month  or  two  in  the  wild  woods, 
and  only  regret  when  he  is  obliged  to  return  to  civilized  life  again. 

The  lakes  in  the  Adirondack  region  are  all  so  charming  and  picturesque  that  it  is 
difficult  to  single  any  out  as  bearing  off  the  palm.  Those  best  known  are  Upper  and 
Lower  Saranac  Lakes,  Tupper  and  Little  Tupper  Lakes,  Lake  Placid,  Round  Lake, 
St.  Regis^Lake,  and  Long  Lake.  Each  of  them  has  its  own  characteristic  beauties, 
and  appeals  in  its  own  way  to  the  lover  of  the  beautiful. 

The  most  popular  and  direct  route  to  the  wilderness  is  from  Port  Kent,  on  Lake 


348 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


Champlain,  to  Keeseville,  a  distance  of  about  six  miles.      Thence  the  traveler  may 
pass  to  Martin's,    on  the  Lower  Saranac,  a  great  part  of  the  way  being  in   sight  of 


I 

•a 


Whiteface  Mountain,  the  second  loftiest  peak  of  these  noble  hills.  At  the  foot  of 
Whiteface  lies  Placid  Lake,  a  lovely  sheet  of  water,  and  a  favorite  summer  resort. 
The  Lower  Saranac  Lake  is  seven  miles  long  by  two  in  width,  and  studded  with 


THE  MOUNTAINS   OF  THE  NORTH. 


349 


romantic  islets, 
fifty-two   in 
number.     The 
Saranac    River 
connects   it 
with   Round 
Lake,    three 
miles  to  the 
westward.  The 
latter  water  is  two  miles 
in  diameter,  and  famous 
for  its  storms.      A  short 
"  carry  "  of  a  mile  or  so 
brings  us   to   the  Upper 
Saranac,  whence  it  is  easy 
to   pass  in    boats   to    St. 
Regis  Lake,  which  in  its 
scenery  and  surroundings 
perhaps    presents  as    fine 
an  example   of  the   gen- 
eral characteristics  of  the 

Adirondack  region  as  any  lake  in  the  whole  chain.      A  short  voyage  in  the  opposite 
direction,  on  the  Lower  Saranac  Lake,  and  a  carry,  lead  us  to  the  Raquette  River, 


A  Carry  near  Little  Tupper  Lake. 


350  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

the  great  artery  of  the  wilderness.  A  row  of  a  few  hours  down  the  Raquette  brings 
us  to  the  outlet  of  Tupper  Lake.  At  the  head  of  this  lake,  which  is  exceedingly 
picturesque  and  full  of  rocky,  tree-embowered  islands,  we  find  the  wild  and  little  ex- 
plored Bog  Kiver,  which  flows  into  the  lake  over  a  romantic  cascade,  one  of  the  great 
attractions  of  the  region,  and  a  famous  place  for  big  brook-trout.  Up  Bog  Eiver, 
through  a  series  of  ponds  and  an  occasional  carry,  we  pass  to  Little  Tupper  Lake,  and 
thence  another  series  of  ponds  and  carries  leads  to  Long  Lake,  that  for  twenty  miles 
reminds  one  of  a  great  river.  From  this  lake  there  is  a  noble  view  of  Mount  Seward, 
which  is  4,348  feet  high. 

Such  is  the  most  frequented  route  in  the  great  wilderness  of  Northern  New  York, 
and  one  which  may  be  pursued  with  the  minimum  of  personal  discomfort  even  by  fair- 
weather  explorers.  For  hardy  and  daring  sportsmen,  who  long  for  still  wilder  scenes, 
the  Adirondack  country  offers  innumerable  paths,  and  just  enough  peril  to  sharpen 
the  taste  for  adventure.  To  penetrate  into  unfrequented  regions,  unknown  even  to 
the  guides  themselves,  and  pursue  a  track  only  pressed  by  the  'stealthy  footfall  of  the 
panther,  the  bear,  and  the  wolf,  is  a  privilege  which  one  need  not  sigh  for  in  vain 
in  this  primeval  stretch  of  lake,  river,  forest,  and  mountain.  To  gratify  such  an  ap- 
petite is  delightful  to  the  few  eager  and  venturesome  spirits,  but,  for  the  majority 
of  those  who  visit  the  "North  Woods,"  a  sojourn  that  does  not  take  them  far  away 
from  the  comfortable  taverns  which  are  found  on  all  the  well-known  lakes  suffices. 
For  here  they  may  sate  their  eyes  on  most  picturesque  and  romantic  scenery,  and 
enjoy  the  fascinations  of  forest-life  without  cutting  entirely  loose  from  the  comforts 
of  civilization. 

Some  of  the  finest  bits  of  mountain  scenery  to  be  found  in  the  United  States, 
perhaps  in  the  world,  exist  in  the  Catskills,  which  is  a  kind  of  spur  of  the  great 
chain  which  runs  along  the  eastern  shore  of  North  America.  This  cluster  of  pict- 
uresque mountains  is  situated  about  one  hundred  and  forty  miles  north  of  the  sea, 
and  about  eight  miles  west  of  the  Hudson  Eiver.  The  Catskill  region  ie  something 
less  than  a  hundred  miles  south  from  the  Adirondacks,  and,  while  it  does  not  offer 
the  same  wonderful  variety  of  scenery,  it  has  characteristic  beauties  of  its  own,  which 
do  not  yield  to  any  of  its  rivals.  Though  some  passing  account  of  the  Catskill 
Mountains  was  given  in  our  sketch  of  inland  summer  resorts,  it  will  be  of  further 
interest  to  glance  briefly  again  at  these  beautiful  mountains.  On  their  eastern  slope 
they  rise  in  bold  grandeur  to  a  height  of  more  than  four  thousand  feet,  while  on  the 
west  they  slope  away  gradually  till  they  are  lost  in  mere  hills. 

One  of  the  most  striking  features  of  the  prospect  from  the  upper  heights  of  the 
Catskills  is  found  in  the  strange  landscape-effects.  This  is  peculiarly  the  case  when 
the  sun  rises  over  the  distant  hills,  and  the  valley  is  filled  with  clouds  that  lie  massed 
a  thousand  feet  below  you.  The  effect  is  then  that  of  an  Arctic  sea  of  ice,  tossing 
back  a  thousand  splinters  of  rainbow-light.  Then,  again,  the  Swiss  Alps  present  no 
more  charming  vision  than  when  the  light  of  sunset  falls  from  behind  the  Catskills 
upon  huge  masses  of  cumulus  clouds,  heaped  upon  one  another  like  peaks  of  snow. 


THE  MOUNTAINS   OF  THE  NORTH. 


351 


Daily  the  scene  changes 
with  the  hours,  always  re- 
vealing some  new  beauties. 
Perhaps  the  most  fa- 
mous feature  of  the  region 
is  the  fall  of  the  Catters- 
kill.  On  the  high  table- 
land of  the  North  and 
South  Mountains  are  two 
lakes,  buried  in  a  dense  for- 
est. A  little  brook  makes 
its  way  from  these  lakes 
westward  along  the  shoul- 
ders of  the  mountain,  and 
finally  reaches  the  edge  of 
a  very  steep  precipice,  over 
which  it  leaps  into  a  deep 
pool  in  the  center  of  a 
rocky  amphitheatre.  Gath- 
ering its  strength  again, 
the  torrent  dashes  a  sec- 
ond time  over  huge  bowl- 
ders, fallen  from  the  ledge 
above,  which  churn  it  into 
foam  as  it  falls  in  head- 
long fury.  Tumbling  from 
one  ledge  to  another  it  at 
length  reaches  the  bottom 
of  the  glen,  when,  meeting 
another  stream,  the  min- 
gled waters  hurry  down 
their  rocky  course,  until, 
swollen  into  considerable 
width,  they  glide  placidly 
into  the  Hudson  at  the 
village  of  Catskill.  There 
can  be  nothing  more  beau- 
tiful than  this  cascade  as 
it  springs  from  the  lofty 
height  and  tumbles  into 
the  hollow  basin  below. 
The  strata  of  which  the 


CatUnkill  Falls. 


352  OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 

mountain  is  formed  lie  horizontally  on  each  other,  and  through  them  the  water  has 
sawed  its  way.  Above  the  margin  of  the  pool,  in  which  the  water  from  the  cascade 
beats  so  furiously,  we  find  a  pathway  worn  out  of  the  soft  rock,  and  extending  all 
around  the  fall.  Sometimes,  when  the  stream  is  swollen,  the  shoot  of  the  cataract 
will  be  far  beyond  you  as  you  stand  on  this  pathway,  and  then  the  effect  is  exquisite. 
A  dancing  rainbow  keeps  step  with  you  as  you  crawl  around  under  the  rock  beneath 
the  waters.  Here,  too,  you  get  a  fine  view  of  the  edges  of  the  ravine  or  clove 
down  which  the  water  descends,  and  can  mark  the  weird  figures  of  the  pines  as  they 
hug  the  edges  of  the  cliffs,  and  lift  their  black  spears  against  the  sky. 

On  the  edge  of  the  precipice,  close  to  where  the  fall  makes  its  plunge,  there  is  a  tree 
growing  out  of  the  crevice  and  jutting  over  the  abyss.  Here  you  are  told  a  legend 
of  a  daring  young  woman,  who  crept  out  on  the  rock,  and,  clasping  the  tree  with  her 
hands,  swung  her  body  far  out  over  the  abyss.  The  gorge  through  which  this  water- 
fall tumbles  is  wild  in  the  extreme.  On  both  sides  the  mountains,  densely  clad  with 
trees,  rise  almost  perpendicularly,  and  the  ceaseless  roar  of  the  torrent  resounds  far 
among  the  rocks. 

The  South  Mountain,  on  which  the  Catskill  Mountain  House  stands,  offers  many  a 
beautiful  ramble,  whereby  we  may  see  curious  or  picturesque  aspects  of  nature.  Among 
these  may  be  singled  out  a  vault-like  passage,  to  which  has  been  given  the  name  of 
Pudding-stone  Hall.  Much  of  the  surface  of  the  mountain  consists  of  a  bed  of  pud- 
ding-stone or  conglomerate.  Some  convulsion  of  nature  has  riven  off  an  enormous 
block  of  this,  and  between  it  and  the  solid  rock  is  a  passage,  several  feet  in  width,  to 
which  the  quaint  name  given  above  has  been  attached.  Your  path  compels  you  to 
pass  through  this  dark,  fern-clad  chasm,  through  which  the  dripping  water  falls,  and 
at  the  end  you  climb  up  on  rude  stones  to  the  top  of  the  ledge.  You  are  now  high 
above  the  level  of  the  Mountain  House,  and  the  view  is  much  more  extensive  than 
the  celebrated  prospect  from  the  piazza  of  that  hotel.  With  a  good  glass  you  can 
easily  see  the  Capitol,  at  Albany,  glittering  forty  miles  away.  A  delightful  walk  brings 
us  at  last  to  Indian  Head,  a  bald  promontory  which  juts  out  over  Catterskill  Clove, 
overhanging  the  bed  of  a  tumbling  mountain  -  stream,  called  the  Catterskill.  Here 
the  mountain  falls,  almost  in  a  plumb-line,  nearly  two  thousand  feet,  and  through 
the  shrubbery  growing  out  of  the  cliff  we  get  vanishing  glimpses  of  far-reaching  land- 
scapes, bathed  in  warm  sunlight.  Perhaps  on  the  head  of  High  Peak  we  see  a  heavy 
pall  of  clouds,  which  darkens  the  mighty  shoulders  of  the  mountain  and  the  gorge 
beneath.  Across  this  mass  of  clouds  there  is  a  brilliant  play  of  color  and  dancing 
sunlight  on  the  rocks  and  grassy  slopes,  while  the  dash  of  the  cascade  comes  roaring 
up  to  us  from  the  glen  far  below. 

Across  the  clove,  or  ravine,  of  which  we  get  a  splendid  prospect  from  Indian  Head, 
there  runs  a  light  bridge,  apparently  too  frail  to  support  the  lumbering  coaches  which 
cross  it.  Underneath  this  the  Catterskill  plunges  furiously  over  the  rocks,  and  then 
falls  over  a  succession  of  ledges  beneath.  On  one  side  the  cliff,  looking  like  the  wall 
of  a  great  mediaeval  castle,  towers  in  the  air,  while  on  the  other  side  the  spurs  of  the 


THE  MOUNTAINS   OF  THE  NORTH. 


353 


.S'«»*«<  Hock. 


354  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

South  Mountain,  densely  covered  with  trees,  rise  rapidly  more  than  fifteen  hundred 
feet.  Few  more  romantic  spots  can  be  found  than  that  known  as  Sunset  Rock,  where 
you  look  westward  up  the  clove.  On  the  top  of  the  broad,  flat  rock,  which  projects 
far  over  the  precipice,  stands,  at  the  very  verge,  an  old  pine-tree,  as  a  sentinel.  In 
front  of,  and  behind  you,  the  mountain  pushes  up  huge  gray  cliffs,  bald  and  ragged, 
far  out  over  the  glen,  and  then  falls,  in  broken  lines,  a  frowning  precipice.  The  lines 
of  South  Mountain,  and  of  the  spurs  of  High  Peak  and  Round  Top,  blend  so  gently 
together,  as  they  meet,  that  it  is  difficult  to  trace  the  bed  of  the  Cauterskill.  Directly 
in  front  of  you  the  table-land,  formed  by  the  shoulders  of  the  mountain,  rolls  off 
toward  the  westward,  where  the  sharp  lines  of  Hunter  Mountain  define  themselves 
among  the  other  peaks. 

The  Five  Cascades  of  the  Catterskill  Clove  are  of  great  beauty.  Here  the 
stream,  after  making  its  first  plunge,  jumps  over  a  series  of  ledges,  from  ten  to  forty 
feet  in  height,  that  lead  like  steps  down  the  ravine.  There  are,  in  reality,  hundreds 
of  these  little  falls  ;  but  the  first  five  are  specially  striking.  A  spot  in  the  mountains 
which  has  attracted  special  admiration  for  the  wildness  of  its  scenery  is  the  pass  of 
Stony  Clove.  Here  it  is  always  dark  and  cool,  and  even  in  mid-August  you  will 
find  ice  among  the  crevices  of  the  rocks  which  have  fallen  in  great  numbers  from 
the  cliffs  above.  Such  are  a  few  of  the  attractions  of  the  Catskill  region,  though  there 
are  countless  walks  and  drives  which  reveal  scenery  not  a  whit  less  beautiful. 

The  great  mountain  system  which  we  have  been  briefly  viewing,  under  the  local 
names  of  the  AVhite  Mountains,  Green  Mountains,  Adirondacks,  and  Catskills,  passes 
southward,  and,  when  it  reaches  Pennsylvania  and  the  more  southern  States,  it  becomes 
known  as  the  Blue  Ridge.  This  name  arises  from  the  even  tinting  of  their  forest- 
clad  slopes,  which  melt  softly  into  the  atmosphere  in  the  most  delicate  and  trans- 
lucent blue. 

One  of  the  outlying  spurs  or  roots  which  unite  afterward,  in  a  series  of  con- 
necting links  across  Pennsylvania,  in  the  Blue  Ridge  of  Virginia,  begins  in  Orange 
County,  New  York,  not  far  from  the  Catskills,  and  stretches  in  a  southwesterly 
direction  across  New  Jersey.  This  is  known  as  the  Kittatinny  or  Blue  Mountain. 
When  it  reaches  a  spot  near  the  junction  of  New  York,  New  Jersey,  and  Pennsyl- 
vania, the  scenery  increases  in  beauty,  and  attains  its  culmination  in  what  is  known 
as  the  Delaware  Water-Gap.  Here  the  Delaware  River,  which  is  made  up  of  little 
streams  rising  on  the  western  declivity  of  the  Catskills,  turns  abruptly  into  the 
mountain,  which  opens  to  give  it  passage  in  a  grand  canon  or  defile.  The  country 
north  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  and  above  the  Gap,  bore  the  Indian  title  of  Minisink,  or 
"Whence  the  waters  are  gone."  Here  was  probably  once  a  vast  lake;  and  whether 
the  water  wore  its  way  through  the  mountain  by  a  great  cataract  like  Niagara,  or 
burst  through  a  gorge,  or  whether  the  mountains  were  lifted  up  on  its  margin,  it 
is  certain  that  the  whole  country  bears  the  marks  of  aqueous  action. 

The  two  great  mountains  which  form  the  boundaries  of  the  Gap  have  been  well 
named.  The  one  on  the  Pennsylvania  side  is  Minsi,  in  memory  of  the  Indians  who 


THE  MOUNTAINS   OF  THE  NORTH. 


355 


Delaware  Water  Gap. 


356  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

made  Minisink  their  hunting-ground.  The  more  rugged  and  rocky  cliff  on  the  New 
Jersey  side  bears  the  name  of  Tammany,  after  the  great  Indian  chieftain  who  ruled 
the  Delaware  confederacy,  who  made  the  treaty  with  William  Penn,  and  who  has  also 
transmitted  his  name  in  the  political  traditions  of  New  York  City.  The  bold  face  of 
Tammany  exhibits  great  frowning  masses  of  naked  rock,  while  the  wooded  sides  of 
Minsi  show  dense  thickets  of  evergreen.  Mount  Minsi  owes  much  of  its  gentle  beauty 
to  the  charming  streams  of  water  that  descend  its  sides  beneath  a  dense  foliage,  which 
veils  the  mossy  pools  and  fern-draped  cascades  from  the  sunlight  into  a  cool  twi- 
light. Successive  ledges  mark  the  face  of  the  mountain,  and  on  the  lowest  of  these, 
about  two  hundred  feet  above  the  river,  stands  the  old  and  well-known  hotel,  the 
Kittatinny  House.  The  stream  that  issues  beneath  the  hotel  comes  down  the  mount- 
ain-side through  a  dark  ravine,  and  falls  in  a  cascade  into  the  river.  Rhododendrons 
fringe  the  sides  with  the  loveliest  foliage  and  blossoms.  The  whole  course  of  the 
stream  is  marked  by  cascades  and  water-falls,  and,  to  those  who  have  followed  its 
devious  way  through  the  shaded  ravine,  the  fairy  glens  and  grottoes  must  return  in 
dreams,  for  to  dream-land  alone  does  such  witching  beauty  belong. 

Not  only  is  the  interior  of  the  Gap  of  such  striking  beauty,  but  outside  of  its 
limits  the  region  is  full  of  grand  scenery.  From  the  mountain-peaks  on  every  side 
magnificent  vistas  open,  and  from  the  river  above  and  below  the  chasm  the  views 
are  of  marvelous  extent.  Spurs  jutting  out  from  the  main  ridge  give  endless  variety 
to  the  landscape,  while  hollows,  gaps,  and  ravines  add  the  most  charming  diversity. 

Several  miles  above  the  Gap  a  mountain-stream,  called  the  Bushkill,  flows  into 
the  Delaware.  On  this  brawling  river  are  several  water-falls,  one  of  which  is  sin- 
gularly fine.  A  chasm  one  hundred  feet  in  height  is  surrounded  on  three  sides 
by  an  almost  perpendicular  wall  of  rock,  over  which  the  water  dashes.  From  below 
the  scene  is  grand  and  somber  in  its  magnificence,  as  the  swift  torrent  striking  mid- 
way on  a  projecting  ledge  rebounds  in  a  mass  of  snowy  foam,  and  then  falls  into  the 
dark  chamber  of  rock  below.  On  the  walls  of  the  chasm,  at  a  level  with  the  sum- 
mit, there  is  another  scene  of  great  beauty  as  the  swift  stream  emerges  from  the  dark 
forest  to  make  its  sudden  plunge.  Another  mountain-stream  near  by  has  two  pict- 
uresque cascades,  Buttermilk  and  Marshall  Falls.  The  latter  plunges  down  a  chasm 
fifty  feet  in  depth,  having  a  veil  of  overhanging  rock  in  front,  through  which  one 
gazes  at  the  gloomy  cataract  as  through  a  curtained  casement.  All  through  this 
region  the  red-men  had  a  favorite  abode,  as  may  be  inferred  from  the  number  of 
Indian  graves,  and  the  great  quantity  of  spear  and  arrow  heads,  hammers,  axes,  and 
tomahawks,  rude  cutting  instruments,  bowls  and  pestles  of  stone,  and  earthenware 
jars. 

Among  the  wonders  of  the  Gap  must  be  mentioned  the  remarkable  lake  on  Mount 
Tammany,  a  lake  to  whose  strangeness  popular  tradition  has  added  a  touch  by  de- 
claring it  unfathomable.  After  splitting  the  very  mountain  to  its  base,  Nature  placed 
here,  by  the  side  of  the  chasm,  on  the  apex  of  the  lofty  peak,  a  placid  and  lovely 
little  lake.  Masses  of  bare  gray  rock  encircle  the  margin,  and  within  this  deso- 


THE  MOUNTAINS  OF   THE  NORTH.  357 

late  ring  the  mirror-like  water  reflects  alone  the  swiftly  darting  birds  or  the  slowly 
sailing  clouds,  for  nothing  else  intervenes  between  water  and  sky.  Near  this  lonely 
lake,  in  a  cleft  of  the  rock,  is  a  single  Indian  grave,  and  we  may  fancy  it  the  place 
of  sepulture  for  some  king,  poet,  or  prophet  of  the  red-men,  thus  interred  in  reverent 
isolation  from  the  graves  of  his  race. 

There  are  interesting  traditions  of  the  tribes — a  portion  of  the  great  confederacy 
of  the  Lenni-Lenape,  which  once  ruled  from  the  lakes  of  Northern  New  York  to  the 
middle  of  Pennsylvania,  who  occupied  this  section  when  the  first  white  settlers  made 
a  lodgment,  and  William  Penn  and  his  followers  accomplished  by  swindling  what 
other  pale-face  intruders  achieved  by  force  of  arms.  One  of  the  stories  of  the  pur- 
chase of  land  by  the  whites  in  the  Minisink  Valley  is  something  as  follows  : 

According  to  the  native  custom,  the  territory  sold  was  always  measured  by  the 
distance  which  could  be  walked  in  a  certain  specified  time.  According  to  the  Indian 
fashion,  the  walkers  loitered,  rested,  or  smoked  by  the  way,  as  they  felt  disposed. 
But  in  this  case  a  sharp  bargain  was  determined  on.  Offers  were  advertised  promis- 
ing five  hundred  acres  of  choice  land  and  a  further  stipend  in  money  to  the  swiftest 
walkers.  Three  were  chosen,  noted  for  their  pedestrian  exploits.  The  boundaries  of 
the  territory  bought  were  to  be  fixed  by  walking  for  a  day  and  a  half  from  a  certain 
chestnut-tree  at  Wrightstown  meeting-house.  Both  the  interested  sides  had  a  large 
number  of  spectators  to  watch  the  performance  of  the  walkers.  One  of  the  white 
contestants  walked  without  pause  and  with  great  rapidity,  a  fact  which  very  much 
disgusted  the  Indians,  who  cried  angrily  as  they  saw  his  swift  and  unceasing  strides  : 
"No  sit  down  to  smoke;  no  shoot  squirrel;  but  lun,  lun,  lun,  all  day."  The  dis- 
tance traversed  was  eighty-six  miles,  the  walking  time  being  eighteen  hours. 

This  exploit  so  enraged  the  red-men  that  they  refused  to  complete  the  bargain, 
and  prevented  the  settlement  of  the  tract  by  armed  resistance ;  and  it  was  a  bloody 
ground  for  twenty-seven  years.  In  1740  the  settlers  near  the  Gap,  to  hold  their  own, 
were  obliged  to  apply  for  assistance  from  the  provincial  government ;  and  again  in 
1763  a  petition  was  sent  for  help,  as  "we  lie  entirely  open  to  the  mercy  of  those  bar- 
barous savage  Indians."  In  many  cases  the  farmers  abandoned  their  homes,  and  their 
unharvested  crops  were  burned  by  the  Indians.  The  Indian  hero  of  the  war  was  the 
Delaware  chief  named  Sadenskung,  who  had  already  been  baptized  by  the  Moravians, 
and  known  as  the  friend  of  the  whites  ;  but  the  fraud  practiced  on  his  people  made 
him  an  implacable  foe.  In  1756  this  chief,  as  the  representative  of  four  nations, 
made  the  following  speech  to  a  council  of  the  whites  at  Easton  : 

"My  people  have  not  far  to  go  for  reasons  for  the  war.  The  very  ground  on 
which  I  stamp  my  foot  was  my  land  and  my  inheritance,  and  has  been  taken  from 
me  by  fraud ;  yes,  for  it  is  fraud  when  one  man  buys  land  of  us  and  takes  a  deed  of 
it  and  dies ;  and  then  the  children  make  a  false  deed  of  it  like  the  true  one,  and 
put  our  Indian  names  to  it,  and  take  from  us  what  we  never  sold.  This  is  fraud. 
It  is  fraud,  too,  when  one  king  has  land  beyond  the  river,  and  another  king  has 
land  on  this  side,  both  bounded  by  rivers,  mountains,  and  springs,  that  can  not  be 


358 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  THE  NORTH.  359 

moved,  and  those  greedy  of  land  buy  of  one  king  what  belongs  to  the  other.  This, 
too,  is  fraud." 

This  Indian  chieftain  at  another  time  sent  four  strings  of  wampum  to  Governor 
Morris,  with  a  separate  message  to  each  :  "One  to  brush  the  thorns  from  the  gov- 
ernor's legs ;  another  to  rub  the  dust  out  of  the  governor's  eyes,  to  help  him  to  see 
clearly ;  another  to  open  the  governor's  ears,  that  he  may  hear  plainly ;  and  the  fourth 
to  clear  the  governor's  throat,  that  he  may  speak  plainly." 

The  Delaware  Water-Gap  itself  was  long  a  forbidden  chasm,  dreaded  and  avoided 
by  travelers,  unless  chance  or  necessity  compelled  them  to  thread  the  defile  by  the 
Indian  trail,  which  formed  a  circuitous  and  dangerous  way  among  the  rocks  piled 
up  in  Nature's  masonry.  It  was  not  till  1800  that  a  wagon-road  was  constructed 
through  it. 

The  surface  of  Pennsylvania  is  level  in  the  southeast,  hilly  and  mountainous  in 
the  interior,  and  rolling  or  broken  in  the  west.  The  mountains  make  a  series  of  par- 
allel ridges  from  fifteen  hundred  to  twenty-five  hundred  feet  in  height,  and  traverse 
the  State  in  a  gently  curving  belt  from  northeast  to  southwest,  the  width  being 
from  fifty  to  eighty  miles  and  the  length  two  hundred  miles.  The  most  easterly, 
known  under  the  local  name  of  South  Mountain,  is  a  prolongation  of  the  Blue  Kidge 
of  Virginia,  and  the  most  westerly  ridge,  which  is  the  highest,  is  the  Alleghany 
Mountain,  from  which  there  is  a  continuous  slope  to  the  Ohio  River,  though  this 
Ohio  table-land  is  crossed  by  two  well-defined  ridges,  Laurel  and  Chestnut.  This 
slope  furnishes  much  of  the  best  arable  land  in  the  State,  though  the  ridges  east  of 
the  Alleghanies  are  too  steep  for  cultivation.  They  are,  however,  rich  in  coal  and 
iron,  and  furnish  the  wonderful  industrial  resources  which  have  made  Pennsylvania 
the  greatest  manufacturing  State  in  the  country. 

The  Susquehanna  River  drains  portions  of  the  central  highlands  of  the  State  through 
tortuous  canons  a  thousand  feet  deep,  and  collects  in  a  central  valley  or  rolling  plain 
which  separates  the  group  of  anthracite-coal  mountains  on  the  east  from  the  wilder- 
ness of  round  tops  on  the  west,  belonging  to  an  older  formation,  through  which  the 
Juniata  River  and  its  branches  break  by  numerous  narrows  or  short  gaps.  The  an- 
thracite mountains,  which  enter  so  largely  into  the  industrial  value  of  the  State,  form 
an  elevated  plateau,  called  the  Pocono  Mountain,  which  continues  in  New  York  State 
as  the  Catskills,  and  through  this  plateau  the  Delaware  River  flows  in  a  deep  cafion. 
The  various  ridges  which  make  up  the  complex  system  of  Pennsylvania  highlands  are 
distinguished  by  various  local  names,  such  as  North,  Blue,  Kittatinny,  Second,  Peter's, 
Berry's,  Mauch  Chunk,  Sharp,  Locust,  Mahantango,  Shamokin,  Shickshinny,  Wyo- 
ming, Hell's  Kitchen,  McCauley's,  Buffalo,  Standing  Stone,  Bald  Eagle,  Dunning, 
Savage,  Black  Log,  Tuscarora,  Path-valley  Mountain,  etc. 

The  valleys  of  Central  Pennsylvania  correspond  to  the  mountain-ridges  in  their 
general  direction,  and  are  crossed  by  the  great  rivers  which  pass  to  the  sea  by  a 
series  of  zigzags.  The  principal  of  these  valleys  are  Chester  in  the  southeast,  Lebanon 
in  the  east,  Wyoming  in  the  northeast,  Penn's  and  Juniata  in  the  center,  Cumber- 


360  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

land  in  the  south,  and  Monongahela  Valley  in  the  southwest.  Perhaps  no  better 
type  of  the  most  characteristic  mountain -scenery  of  the  State  can  be  found  than  in 
the  course  of  the  Juniata  River,  which  flows  in  a  narrow  valley  from  the  west  till  it 
pours  into  the  Susquehanna  fourteen  miles  above  Harrisburg.  It  is  about  a  hundred 
and  fifty  miles  long,  and  its  banks  are  followed  by  the  Pennsylvania  Canal  and  Rail- 
road. The  sources  of  the  river  are  in  the  Alleghany  Mountains,  and  it  breaks 
through  all  the  intermediate  mountain-ridges  in  passes,  ravines,  and  gulches  of  the 
most  picturesque  and  romantic  beauty,  which  have  long  been  the  theme  of  the  poet's 
song  and  the  artist's  brush. 

Massiveness,  softness  of  outline,  and  variety  are  the  distinguishing  peculiarities  of 
the  Juniata  scenery.  The  little  river  breaks  through  its  obstacles  by  both  strategy 
and  force.  At  many  places  it  seems  to  have  dashed  boldly  against  the  wall  and  to 
have  torn  it  asunder.  Again  it  winds  around  the  obstruction  through  secret  valleys 
and  secluded  glens.  At  some  points  the  mountains  appear  to  have  retired  from  the 
attacking  current,  leaving  isolated  hills  to  stand  like  sentinels.  But  the  severed  mount- 
ains, the  towering  walls,  and  the  lonely  hills  are  all  toned  and  molded  by  the  action 
of  the  elements  and  the  foliage  of  nature,  so  that  the  eye  sees  but  few  naked  rocks 
or  abrupt  precipices.  The  valleys  and  many  of  the  lesser  hills  are  brought  under 
cultivation  and  some  of  the  latter  rise  in  the  distance,  presenting  a  checker-work  of 
yellow,  green,  and  brown,  showing  the  progress  of  agricultural  industry,  while  their 
summits  are  crowned  with  clumps  of  forest-trees,  indicating  their  woodland  luxuriance 
before  they  were  invaded  by  the  march  of  civilization.  Every  change  of  the  seasons, 
every  hour  of  the  day,  in  fact,  gives  new  tints  to  these  mountains  and  valleys.  The 
morning  mist  often  hides  them  with  its  soft  shroud  ;  and,  as  this  is  dispersed  by  the 
sun,  cloud-like  forms  sail  away  in  the  sky,  pausing  at  times  amid  the  higher  summits 
as  if  to  rest  before  taking  their  final  flight.  The  hues  of  evening  dye  them  with 
gold  and  purple,  while  deep  shadows  sink  in  the  water  and  creep  up  the  wooded  banks. 
Spring  clothes  the  entire  landscape  with  a  tender  green.  Summer  deepens  this  into  a 
richer  tint,  and  scatters  through  it  the  gold  of  the  ripening  grain.  Autumn  dashes 
its  blazing  hues  over  the  magnificent  forests  with  a  lavish  hand,  and  winter  turns  the 
hills  into  snow  giants,  over  which  tower  the  ever-verdant  pines  or  repose  dark  beds 
of  rhododendrons.  In  the  river-valley  almost  every  tree  has  its  parasite  in  a  Virginia 
creeper  festooning  it  from  the  ground  to  the  topmost  branch  ;  and  here  and  there  a 
larger  vine  binds  a  number  together  as  if  it  had  grown  weary  of  its  first  love  and 
taken  others  to  its  embrace.  At  some  places  the  railroad  which  traverses  the  valley 
passes  through  broad,  cultivated  openings,  and  at  others  it  is  built  along  ravines  so 
narrow  that  its  bed  is  carved  out  of  the  overhanging  rock.  Now  a  mountain-spur 
bars  the  path  and  is  pierced  by  a  tunnel,  and  again  the  river  is  so  tortuous  that 
numerous  bridges  carry  the  track  from  bank  to  bank.  Every  mile  opens  up  new 
scenes,  which  present  themselves  to  the  traveler's  eye  like  the  changing  pictures  of  the 
kaleidoscope. 

Like  the  other  ridges  of   the   great  Appalachian   chain,  which   stretches   along  the 


THE  MOUNTAINS   OF  THE  NORTH. 


361 


whole  Atlantic  coast  of  the  United  States,  the  Alleghanies  are  noticeable,  not  for 
their  great  elevation,  nor  for  their  striking  peaks,  nor  for  any  feature  that  distin- 
guishes one  portion  of  them  from  the  rest,  but  for  a  single  uniformity  of  outline, 
particularly  of  that  which  defines  the  summits  of  the  mountains,  which  are  always 


362  OUR    NATIVE  LAND. 

round  and  sloping.  The  greatest  width  of  the  mountainous  region  in  Pennsylvania 
is  about  one  hundred  miles,  and  that  of  the  Alleghanies  is  twenty-five  miles,  consti- 
tuting, indeed,  the  western  and  highest  wall  of  the  lofty  mountain-plateau  which 
extends  over  the  whole  central  portion  of  the  State.  This  elevated  region  is  singu- 
larly rich  in  its  forest  features.  Oaks,  beeches,  maples,  and  ash-trees,  and  every 
variety  of  evergreens,  cover  the  slopes  and  summits  in  lavish  profusion.  This  splendid 
mountain  wilderness,  which  presents  its  primeval  beauties  within  a  few  miles  of  the 
towns  and  villages  which  line  the  track  of  the  railway  or  the  courses  of  the  rivers, 
offers  the  most  fascinating  inducements  to  the  sportsman.  The  streams  and  brooks 
are  alive  with  fine  trout,  while  in  the  forest  recesses  one  does  not  need  to  go  far  to 
find  bears,  catamounts,  wolverenes,  deer,  and  almost  every  variety  of  the  furred  and 
feathered  tribes. 

A  few  miles  west  of  the  city  of  Altoona,  which  stands  at  the  east  base  of  the 
mountains,  the  western-bound  passenger  on  the  Pennsylvania  railroad  has  the  privilege 
of  beholding  some  of  the  most  striking  and  picturesque  scenery  to  be  found  in  the 
Alleghanies.  Just  beyond  Altoona  the  ascent  of  the  mountains  begins,  and,  in  the 
course  of  the  next  eleven  miles,  superb  mountain-views  contest  the  attention  with  the 
remarkable  feats  of  engineering  which  were  necessary  to  carry  the  line  of  railway 
across  the  rocky  barriers.  Within  this  distance  the  roadway  mounts  to  the  tunnel  at 
the  summit  by  so  steep  a  grade  that,  while  in  the  ascent  double  power  is  required  to 
move  the  train,  the  entire  eleven  miles  of  descent  are  run  without  steam,  the  speed 
of  the  train  being  regulated  by  the  brakes.  The  celebrated  Horseshoe  Curve  is  at 
Kittanning  Point.  Here  the  valley  separates  into  two  chasms,  neither  of  which  is 
practicable  for  further  progress.  By  a  huge  curve,  in  the  shape  of  a  horseshoe,  the 
sides  of  which  run  parallel  to  each  other,  the  railroad  crosses  both  ravines  on  a  high 
embankment,  cuts  away  the  point  of  the  mountain  dividing  them,  sweeps  around  the 
great  western  wall,  and  leads  to  a  more  practicable  pass. 

A  little  way  beyond  Kittanning  Point,  another  splendid  mountain-scene  is  dis- 
played at  Allegrippus.  There  are  few,  if  any,  more  remarkable  spots  in  the  whole 
Alleghany  range.  Gazing  toward  the  east  (for  we  are  now  on  the  western  side  of 
the  great  mountain-ridge),  range  after  range  rises  into  view,  until  at  last  they  fade 
away  into  the  azure  of  the  horizon.  No  limit  but  the  power  of  vision  bounds  the 
eye-sight.  Gradually,  as  we  pass  on,  the  valleys  seem  to  rise  and  the  mountains  to 
sink,  until  the  whole  landscape  assumes  the  aspect  of  a  rugged  plain,  where  industry 
has  found  a  most  prosperous  home  for  mines,  furnaces,  and  mills. 

From  the  base  of  the  western  slope  of  the  Alleghanies  the  mountain  panorama, 
though  not  so  bold,  perhaps,  as  on  the  eastern  side,  is  not  less  picturesque  and  strik- 
ing. The  Conemaugh  River,  which  is  one  of  the  principal  tributaries  of  the  Ohio, 
the  Alleghany  and  Monongahela  being  the  other  two,  flows  from  the  western  slopes 
through  scenes  of  the  most  attractive  beauty.  One  spot  along  which  the  Pennsylvania 
Railroad  passes  in  the  valley  of  the  Conemaugh  is  known  as  the  "  Packsaddle." 
This  is  a  few  miles  from  the  town  of  Bolivar,  and  the  river  is  narrowed  by  the  closely 


THE  MOUNTAINS   OF  THE  NORTH.  363 

approaching  mountain-walls.  The  water  flows  with  great  swiftness  and  turbulence, 
and  the  superb  lines  and  curves  of  the  mountains,  wooded  to  their  very  crests,  and 
the  sparkling  silver  of  the  river  below,  make  a  charming  picture,  or  series  of  pict- 
ures, for,  as  one  progresses  along  the  tortuous  route,  fresh  surprises  of  scenic  effect 
attract  the  eye. 

Such  are  a  few  characteristic  scenes  from  the  great  Alleghany  range  of  Pennsyl- 
vania. One  confusing  fact  in  our  mountain  nomenclature  is  in  the  great  variety 
and  uncertainty  of  names  as  applied  to  the  same  ranges  in  different  States,  different 
local  titles  not  only  being  current,  but  also  a  confused  application  of  the  main 
names  of  the  ridges.  For  example,  the  Blue  Eidge  in  Virginia  is  not  the  same  con- 
tinuous chain  with  the  Blue  Ridge  of  Pennsylvania  ;  and  the  Alleghany  of  Virginia 
becomes,  in  its  two  divisions  in  North  Carolina,  the  Blue  Eidge  and  the  Great 
Smoky.  These  varieties  of  title  make  it  a  little  difficult  to  fully  understand  the  exact 
relations  of  the  different  divisions  of  the  great  Appalachian  system,  without  referring 
to  a  map. 


THE   MOUNTAINS   OF  THE   SOUTH. 

The  mountains  of  Virginia — Harper's  Ferry  and  its  surroundings — The  Peaks  of  Otter — North  Carolina  scenery — 
The  highest  mountain  of  the  Atlantic  coast — The  Linville  Range — Mount  Pisgah — The  French  Broud  and  its 
beauties  —Cherokee  traditions — Alum  Cave,  Smoky  Mountain — Cumberland  Gap — Lookout  Mountain,  Tennes- 
see— Mountain-scenery  in  Georgia — The  valley  of  the  Owassa — Tallulah  Chasm. 

THE  highland  region  of  the  Southern  United  States  does  not  yield  to  the  Northern 
mountains  in  variety,  boldness,  and  picturesqueness  of  scenery,  and  offers  to  the  tourist 
and  traveler  charms  which  are  becoming  better  known  every  year.  The  Virginia 
mountains,  of  course,  have  long  been  famous,  a  distinction  which  they  owe  partly  to 
their  accessibility  and  partly  to  the  numerous  mineral  springs  scattered  through  them. 


THE  MOUNTAINS   OF  THE  SOUTH.  365 

noted,  since  the  early  days  of  the  republic,  for  their  healing  virtues.  But,  aside 
from  Virginia,  the  beauties  of  Southern  mountain-scenery  have  only  within  a  few  years 
begun  to  attract  the  capricious  footsteps  of  any  large  number  of  visitors.  The  mount- 
ain system  of  Virginia,  which  extends  in  the  same  general  direction  from  northeast 
to  southwest,  may  be  divided  into — 1.  The  coast  range,  extending  along  the  Atlantic 
sea-board,  west  of  what  is  called  Tide-water  Virginia,  and  consisting  of  low  spurs  6f 
hills  stretching  from  the  Potomac  Kiver  to  the  borders  of  North  Carolina ;  2.  The 
Blue  Ridge,  a  range  with  many  branches  expanding  into  plateaus  or  rising  into  domes, 
comprising  a  region  of  about  twenty-five  hundred  square  miles,  consisting  of  parallel 
ridges,  detached  knobs,  and  foot-hills,  the  highest  parts  of  which  rise  four  thousand 
feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea ;  and,  3.  The  Alleghanies,  still  farther  west,  which  have 
a  length  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  miles,  a  width  of  from  ten  to  fifty  miles,  and  an 
area  of  nearly  eight  thousand  miles.  While  the  Alleghanies  in  Pennsylvania  are 
characterized  by  their  irregularity  and  confusion,  they  display  in  Virginia  a  series  of 
parallel  valleys  long  and  narrow,  separated  by  perfectly  regular  mountain-ranges. 
The  highest  peak  in  the  State,  however,  Balsam  Mountain,  does  not  lie  in  the  direct 
line  of  either  of  the  two  great  ranges,  but  between  the  Blue  Ridge  and  the  Alle- 
ghanies in  the  Iron  Mountains,  near  the  border  of  North  Carolina.  Between  the  two 
great  ranges  sweeps  a  magnificent  valley  from  the  Potomac  to  the  Holston.  It  ex- 
tends for  about  three  hundred  and  thirty  miles,  of  which  some  three  hundred  are 
within  the  State  of  Virginia,  and  has  an  area  of  five  thousand  miles.  This  grand 
mountain  plateau — for  it  is  such  in  effect — embraces  the  valleys  of  five  rivers,  the 
Shenandoah,  James,  Roanoke,  Kanawha  or  New,  and  Holston  or  Tennessee,  and  in- 
cludes within  its  broad  domain  much  of  the  most  striking  and  picturesque  scenery  of 
the  State  of  Virginia.  Between  the  great  main  ranges  are  lower  ranges  of  hills  inter- 
spersing and  breaking  up  the  valley,  and  known  under  various  local  names.  These 
mountains  properly  belong  to  either  the  Blue  Ridge  or  the  Alleghanies,  but  in  the 
current  parlance  of  the  people  are  differently  classed. 

The  Alleghanies  form  the  boundary  between  Virginia  and  West  Virginia,  and  rise 
to  an  average  elevation  of  about  five  hundred  feet  higher  than  that  of  the  Blue 
Ridge.  Nearly  parallel  to  them  and  about  thirty  miles  westward  is  a  series  of  ridges 
and  mountains  that  may  properly  be  regarded  as  a  continuation  of  the  Cumberland 
Mountains,  which  are  found  at  their  greatest  elevation  in  the  State  of  Tennessee. 

With  this  general  survey  of  the  mountains  of  Virginia  let  us  glance  in  detail  at 
some  of  the  more  famous  mountain-scenes  of  this  fine  upland  region."  First  of  all 
comes  Harper's  Ferry,  the  great  natural  gate-way  of  the  two  Virginias  on  the  Mary- 
land border.  Here  the  Shenandoah  River  pours  its  waters  into  the  Potomac,  and  the 
united  streams  force  their  passage  through  the  Blue  Ridge  at  a  point  forty-five  miles 
west  of  the  city  of  Washington.  Thomas  Jefferson  pronounced  the  passage  of  the 
Potomac  through  the  mountains  as  "  one  of  the  most  stupendous  scenes  in  nature, 
and  well  worth  a  voyage  across  the  Atlantic  to  witness."  Though  a  more  thorough 
exploration  of  the  natural  wonders  of  our  country  since  Jefferson's  eulogy  has  dis- 


366 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


covered  chasms  far  more 
wonderful  and  scenes  more 
sublime,  Harper's  Ferry  in 
its  combination  of  the  beau- 
tiful and  the  grand  still  re- 
mains among  the  famous 
places  of  the  country,  aside 
from  the  historic  interest 
attached  to  it. 

The  town  of  Harper's 
Ferry  is  built  at  the  foot  of 
the  narrow  tongue  of  land 
that  thrusts  itself  out  like 
a  cut-water  separating  the 
Potomac  and  the  Shenan- 
doah,  and  known  as  Bolivar 
Heights.  It  lies  in  Jeffer- 
son County,  West  Virginia, 
and  just  across  the  Poto- 
mac are  Maryland  Heights 
in  the  State  of  Maryland, 
while  over  the  Shenandoah 
lies  Virginia  proper  beyond 
Loudon  Heights.  Since 
the  war  the  town  has  re- 
mained in  a  sleepy,  half- 
dilapidated  condition.  Its 
principal  historic  fame,  of 
course,  is  connected  with 
the  desperate  and  daring 
raid  of  old  John  Brown,  a 
feat  which  had  no  little  in- 
fluence in  bringing  on  the 
late  civil  conflict.  With- 
out dwelling  on  its  histor- 
ic associations,  let  us  brief- 
ly describe  the  situation. 
Climbing  by  the  rude  stone 
steps  that  lead  up  the  brow 
of  the  mountain  directly 
from  the  principal  street 
of  the  town,  we  find  our- 


THE  MOUNTAINS   OF  THE  SOUTH.  367 

selves  on  Jefferson  Eock,  a  remarkable  stratified  formation  that  rises  abruptly  from  the 
town  below.  Here  is  the  best  attainable  view  of  the  mountains  from  their  base,  and 
of  the  meeting  of  the  waters.  Beyond  the  town  loom  Maryland  Heights ;  to  the  left 
frowns  Loudon,  crowned  with  green,  the  sides  seamed  with  fissures  and  ravines  innu- 
merable. In  the  gap  between  the  two  mountains,  the  Shenandoah,  which  flows  down 
with  many  a  curve  skirting  the  Blue  Ridge,  and  the  Potomac,  which  comes  down 
from  the  Alleghanies,  unite.  Geologists  are  yet  uncertain  in  their  minds  whether  this 
tremendous  rent  in  the  mountain-wall  was  made  by  some  sudden  convulsion  or  by  the 
gradual  eating  away  of  the  barrier  that  at  one  time  confined  a  great  interior  lake. 
There  is  no  grandeur  in  the  scene.  Life,  brightness,  and  quiet  beauty  characterize 
it.  The  fair  river  lies  spread  out  between  wide  inclosing  banks,  and  catches  the  glit- 
ter of  the  sunlight  and  the  huge  shadows  from  the  sentinel-peaks  which  guard  its 
ample  breast.  The  view  from  Maryland  Heights,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river,  is 
one  which  no  tourist  ever  misses.  The  climb  up  the  almost  perpendicular  shoulder 
of  the  mountain  is  hard  work,  but  on  gaining  the  elevation  the  reward  is  ample  in 
the  splendid  panorama  opened  to  the  vision.  Before  us  lies  stretched  an  almost  in- 
terminable reach  of  valley  and  hill,  beautiful  with  waving  fields  and  wooded  slopes. 
Mountains  huge  and  stately  melt  away  in  the  blue  haze  of  the  distance,  and  solitary 
peaks  jut  from  the  ranges  as  far  as  the  eye  can  follow.  Through  the  valley  flows  the 
Potomac,  curving  to  the  right  and  then  deflecting  to  the  left,  disappearing  and  reap- 
pearing, and  splashing  the  landscapes  with  bursts  of  silver.  On  the  top  of  Maryland 
Heights  we  are  at  an  elevation  of  thirteen  hundred  feet.  The  view  is  unobstructed, 
except  where  the  Blue  Ridge,  throwing  out  spurs  here  and  there,  mountains  linked  to 
mountains  in  endless  variety  of  height  and  shape,  rises  and  divides  valley  from  valley. 
The  Blue  Ridge,  it  must  be  understood,  is  characterized  not  only  by  its  soft  envelop- 
ing color,  but  by  peculiarities  of  line  and  form.  It  is  a  series  of  ranges  pocketed  into 
one  another.  First  one  mountain  takes  up  the  elevation  for  ten  or  twelve  miles,  then 
some  detached  height  will  continue  the  broken  chain,  only  to  give  place  to  a  third, 
and  so  on  to  others.  From  Maryland  Heights  we  look  into  seven  counties  and  three 
States,  and  through  the  heart  of  the  scene  the  Potomac  courses  in  alternate  sunlight 
and  shade,  adding  beauty,  life,  and  changeableness.  The  once  desolate  region,  which 
the  eye  takes  in  from  our  coign  of  vantage,  and  of  which  General  Sheridan  once 
boasted  that  a  crow  flying  over  it  would  have  to  carry  its  rations  in  its  beak,  now 
smiles  with  the  most  perfect  prosperity  and  loveliness.  All  around  Harper's  Ferry 
one  may  discover  exquisite  mountain  prospects  and  stretches  of  picturesque  beauty, 
but  the  outlook  from  Maryland  Heights  is  probably  the  most  satisfactory. 

For  another  characteristic  example  of  Virginia  mountain-scenery  let  us  visit  the 
southwestern  portion  of  the  State.  Reaching  Lynchburg  by  the  Atlantic,  Mississippi, 
and  Ohio  Railroad,  we  find  our  point  of  departure  for  the  celebrated  Peaks  of  Otter 
from  this  quaint  old  Virginia  town,  one  of  the  great  centers  of  the  tobacco-trade. 
A  little  more  than  a  night's  journey  on  the  James  River  and  Kanawha  Canal,  or,  if 
we  choose,  a  ride  of  twenty  miles  on  horseback,  brings  us  to  the  little  town  of 


368  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

Liberty,  the  shire-town  of  Bedford  County.  From  this  place  the  twin  peaks  may  be 
seen  rising  in  hanghty  majesty  against  the  blue  of  the  sky,  perched  high  upon  the 
Blue  Kidge  chain.  These  towering  sentinels  of  the  lovely  valley  below  them  appear 
to  be  only  a  mile  or  two  away,  but  it  requires  a  tedious  and  fatiguing  journey  of 
several  hours  by  wagon  or  horseback  to  reach  the  gap  which  separates  them.  Through 
this  opening  the  capricious  stream  of  the  Otter,  whence  the  peaks  get  their  name, 
eddies  and  ripples  and  flows  down  for  many  a  mile  by  humble  farm-houses  and 
through  rich  fields.  The  northern  and  highest  peak,  which  rises  5,307  feet  above  the 
sea,  is  rarely  visited.  The  other,  which  is  shaped  like  a  gigantic  pyramid,  is  often 
ascended.  The  following  description,  from  the  journal  of  one  who  climbed  to  the 
summit  of  the  peak,  gives  an  admirable  idea  of  the  scene  from  the  top  : 

"  At  last  reaching  the  gap,  more  than  three  thousand  feet  above  sea-level,  we  saw 
before  us  a  pyramid  of  rough  soil  thickly  sown  with  trees,  and  dotted  with  rude 
cabins  in  the  clearings.  On  the  right,  the  northern  peak  showed  its  wooded  sides, 
where  the  bear  still  wanders  undisturbed,  and  a  little  in  front  of  us  stood  the  primi- 
tive hotel,  surrounded  by  flourishing  orchards.  The  vine  grows  with  surprising 
luxuriance  along  these  mountains,  the  dry  air  and  genial  warmth  giving  every  en- 
couragement for  the  largest  experimenting  in  vineyards. 

"We  now  began  gradually  to  master  the  ascent,  and  after  half  an  hour  of  painful 
climbing  over  rudest  roads,  and  a  long  scramble  up  an  almost  perpendicular  hill-side, 
we  came  to  a  point  in  the  forest  where  a  high  rock  seemed  to  offer  an  impassable 
barrier,  but  around  which  led  a  path  on  a  narrow  ledge.  We  stumbled  forward,  and, 
dizzy  with  the  effort,  stood  on  the  summit. 

"Jagged  and  irregular  masses  of  rock  projected  over  a  tremendous  abyss,  into 
which  we  hardly  dared  to  look.  A  strong  wind  blew  steadily  across  the  height.  We 
could  not  help  fancying  that  some  of  the  masses  of  stone,  apparently  so  tightly  sus- 
pended, might  fall  and  crush  us.  Under  the  great  dome  of  the  translucent  sky  we 
stood  trembling,  shut  off  from  the  lower  world,  and  poised  on  a  narrow  pinnacle, 
from  which  we  might  at  any  moment,  by  an  unwary  step,  be  hurled  down.  An  old 
stone  cabin,  which  had  once  served  as  the  lodging  for  such  adventurous  persons  as 
desired  to  see  sunrise  from  the  peak,  but  which  had  been  partially  destroyed  during 
the  war,  was  perched  on  one  of  the  corners  of  the  mighty  crag ;  from  it  a  slender 
board  was  laid  to  a  sharp  corner  in  the  uppermost  cliff,  and  up  that  we  scrambled. 
Then,  making  our  way  on  to  the  topmost  stone,  we  gazed  down  on  the  Valley  of 
Virginia.  In  front  of  us,  looking  over  fertile  Bedford  County,  it  seemed  a  garden  ; 
from  point  to  point  gleamed  the  spires  and  roofs  of  villages  ;  mountains  of  every 
imaginable  shape  rose  on  all  sides ;  and  the  forests  at  the  edges  of  the  gaps  in  the 
Blue  Ridge  seemed  delicatest  fringes  of  purple.  We  could  trace  the  massive  and 
curving  ranges  of  the  Alleghanies,  and  the  rudely-gullied  sides  of  the  nearest  peaks. 
Their  reddish  soil,  showing  up  strongly  under  the  bright  sun,  produced  a  magical 
effect.  Nowhere  were  the  adjacent  peaks,  however,  so  near  as  to  lessen  the  sublime 
illusion  of  seeming  suspension  in  mid-air,  produced  by  our  climb  to  the  highest  rock 


THE  MOUNTAINS   OF  THE  SOUTH. 


369 


Peaks  of  Otter. 

of  the  peak.  The  cabins  along  the  roads  below  looked  like  black  dots,  the  men  at 
work  in  the  fields  like  ants.  From  the  rocky  throne  one  seems  to  have  the  whole  map 
of  Virginia  spread  before  him  ;  and  the  back-bone  of  the  Alleghanies  appeared  but  as 
a  toy  which  one  might  stride  over  or  displace  at  will."  Virginia  is  full  of  the  most 
striking  effects  of  landscape  beauty,  but  beyond  the  typical  examples  already  given  we 
can  not  pass,  but  hasten  on  to  take  a  rapid  glance  at  other  portions  of  the  South. 

24 


370  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

It  is  safe  to  assert  that  there  is  no  part  of  that  vast  extent  of  country  which  lies 
between  the  St.  Lawrence  and  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  that  is  so  slightly  known  and  so 
little  appreciated  as  the  mountain-region  of  North  Carolina.*  While  the  White 
Mountains  and  the  Adirondacks  are  yearly  thronged  with  tourists,  and  the  mountains 
of  Virginia  have  been  for  half  a  century  known  to  pleasure-seekers,  these  wild  and 
beautiful  highlands  are  to-day  less  visited,  less  written  of,  and  less  talked  of,  than 
the  defiles  of  the  Sierra  Nevada  and  the  peaks  of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  Compara- 
tively speaking,  indeed,  there  are  few  persons  who  are  even  aware  that  much  of  the 
grandest  scenery  east  of  the  Mississippi  is  to  be  found  where  the  great  Appalachian 
system  reaches  its  loftiest  altitude,  in  North  Carolina. 

With  the  majority,  this  ignorance  will  probably  continue  so  long  as  palace-cars  do 
not  penetrate  into  the  country,  and  hotels  with  all  the  luxuries  of  civilization  are  not 
to  be  found  there.  But  to  those  who  love  Nature  well  enough  to  be  able  to  endure 
some  inconvenience  in  order  to  behold  her  in  her  most  enchanting  phases ;  to  those 
who  have  any  desire  to  enter  a  land  where  the  manners,  customs,  and  traditions  of 
by-gone  generations  still  linger ;  to  those,  above  all,  who  can  feel  the  loveliness  of 
pastoral  valleys,  and  the  grandeur  of  cloud-girdled  peaks,  and  who  appreciate  these 
things  the  more  for  a  spice  of  difficulty  and  adventure,  Western  North  Carolina  offers 
a  most  attractive  field,  and  is,  after  all  (even  from  a  nineteenth-century  point  of  view), 
very  easy  of  access. 

Geographically  considered,  no  one  can  fail  to  perceive  the  incomparable  advantages 
of  the  region.  Touching  Virginia  with  its  upper  corner,  and  Georgia  with  its  lower, 
bounded  by  Tennessee  and  South  Carolina,  this  table-land  possesses  a  climate  which 
can  not  be  equaled  in  the  Atlantic  States.  Its  height — "for,"  says  an  excellent  au- 
thority on  the  subject,  "  nineteen  twentieths  of  the  land  is  found  between  the  eleva- 
tions of  eighteen  hundred  and  thirty-five  hundred  feet  above  the  ocean" — renders  the 
atmosphere  delightfully  pure  and  bracing,  while  its  southern  latitude  preserves  it  from 
harshness.  It  is  at  once  invigorating  and  balmy,  cool  in  summer,  yet  so  mild  in 
winter  that  it  is  very  unusual  for  the  ground  to  be  covered  with  snow  for  a  week  at 
a  time.  Especially  in  the  valleys,  sheltered  by  the  lofty  mountain-chains,  there  is  an 
equability  of  temperature  so  remarkable  that  it  does  not  require  the  gift  of  prophecy 
to  foresee  that  the  country  must  in  time  become  one  of  the  greatest  health-resorts  on 
the  eastern  slope  of  the  continent. 

Let  us  take  a  glance  at  the  map,  to  assist  us  in  forming  some  idea  of  the  extent 
of  the  region.  We  perceive  that  it  is  encircled  by  two  great  mountain-chains — the 
Blue  Ridge  forming  its  eastern  boundary,  the  Great  Smoky,  which  is  the  continuation 
of  the  Alleghanies  in  North  Carolina,  the  western — within  which  lies  an  elevated  land, 
two  hundred  and  fifty  miles  in  length,  with  an  average  breadth  of  fifty  miles.  It  is 
also  traversed  by  cross-chains,  that  run  directly  across  the  country,  and  from  which 
spurs  of  greater  or  lesser  height  lead  off  in  all  directions.  Of  these  transverse  ranges 

*  The  editor  is  indebted  for  the  main  portion  of  this  description  of  the  mountains  of  North  Carolina 
to  an  article  from  the  pen  of  Christian  Reid,  published  in  "Appleton's  Journal." 


THE  MOUNTAINS   OF  THE  SOUTH. 


371 


there  are  four — the  Black,  the  Balsam,  the  Cullowhee,  and  Nantahala.  Between  them 
lie  regions  of  valleys,  formed  by  the  noble  rivers  and  their  minor  tributaries,  where 
a  healthful  atmosphere  and  picturesque  surroundings  are  combined  with  a  soil  of  sin- 
gular fertility. 

The  Blue  Ridge  is  the  natural  barrier  dividing  the  waters  falling  into  the  Atlantic 
Ocean  from  those  of  the  Mississippi  Valley,  and  its  bold  and  beautiful  heights  are  bet- 
ter known  than  the  grander  steeps  of  the  western  chain.  It  abounds  in  scenery  of  the 
most  romantic  description.  The  streams  that  burst  from  the  brows  of  the  mountains 
leap  down  their  sides  in  unnumbered  flashing  cascades,  while  cliffs  and  palisades  of 


if  JT 

• 


rock  diversify  the  splendid  sweep  of  tow- 
ering peaks  and  lofty  pinnacles,  where 

"  A  'wildering  forest  feathers  o'er 
The  ruined  sides  and  summits  hoar." 

Especially  when  approached  from  the  eastern  side,  the  beauty  of  this  range  is  most 
perceptible,  and  along  'its  entire  course,  from  Virginia  to  Georgia,  it  is  broken  by 
gaps  which  in  picturesque  charm  can  not  be  surpassed.  The  most  magnificent  of 
these  gate-ways  is  Hickory-Nut  Gap,  where  for  nine  miles  the  traveler  winds  upward 
to  the  realm  of  the  clouds  along  a  narrow  pass  of  inexpressible  loveliness,  hemmed 


372  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

before,  around,  and  behind,  by  stately  heights,  the  road  no  more  than  a  shelf  along 
the  mountain-side,  and  far  below  the  Broad  River,  whirling  and  foaming  over  its 
countless  rocks  amid  a  wilderness  of  almost  tropical  foliage.  Then,  when  the  top  of 
the  gap  is  reached,  what  a  view  of  the  land  which  one  has  entered  is  spread  unto 
"  the  fine,  faint  limit  of  the  bounding  day "  !  Mountains,  mountains,  and  yet  again 
mountains,  fading  into  the  enchanting  softness  of  azure  distance,  with  a  paradise  of 
happy  valleys  lying  between  !  From  crested  hill  to  level  meadow,  a  greenness  which 
is  like  a  benediction  clothes  all  the  nearer  prospect,  while  afar  the  swelling  heights 
wear  tints  so  heavenly  that  no  artist's  pigments  could  reproduce  them.  A  subtile 
sense  of  repose  seems  borne  in  every  aspect  of  the  scene.  One  feels  that,  if  any  spot 
of  earth  holds  a  charm  for  a  weary  body  or  an  unquiet  spirit,  that  spot  is  here. 

On  the  western  side  of  this  "land  of  the  sky"  runs  the  chain  of  the  Great  Smoky 
— comprising  the  groups  of  the  Iron,  the  Unaka,  and  the  Roan  Mountains — which, 
from  its  massiveness  of  form  and  general  elevation,  is  the  master-chain  of  the  whole 
Alleghany  range.  Though  its  highest  summits  are  a  few  feet  lower  than  the  peaks 
of  the  Black  Mountain,  it  presents  a  continuous  series  of  high  peaks  which  nearly 
approach  that  altitude — its  culminating  point,  Clingman's  Dome,  rising  to  the  height 
of  6,660  feet.  Though  its  magnitude  is  much  greater  than  that  of  the  Blue  Ridge, 
this  range  is  cut  at  various  points  by  the  mountain-rivers,  which  with  resistless  im- 
petuosity tear  their  way  through  the  heart  of  its  superb  heights  in  gorges  of  terrific 
grandeur.  Scenery  grand  as  any  which  tourists  cross  a  continent  to  admire  is  buried 
in  these  remote  fastnesses,  utterly  unknown  save  to  the  immediate  inhabitants  of  the 
country,  and  a  few  adventurous  spirits  who  have  penetrated  thither. 

The  most  fampus  of  the  transverse  ranges  is  that  of  the  Black  Mountain,  the 
dominating  peak  of  which  is  now  well  known  to  be  the  loftiest  of  the  Atlantic  sum- 
mits. One  is  surprised  to  consider  how  long  the  exact  height  of  these  mountains 
remained  undetermined,  and  Mount  Washington,  in  New  Hampshire,  was  esteemed 
the  highest  point  east  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  while,  in  truth,  not  fewer  than  thirty 
peaks  in  North  Carolina  surpass  it  in  altitude.  The  Black  Mountain  is  a  group  of 
lofty  heights,  which  attain  their  greatest  elevation  near  the  Blue  Ridge.  With  its  two 
great  branches,  it  is  more  than  twenty  miles  long,  and  its  rugged  sides  are  covered 
with  a  wilderness  of  almost  inaccessible  forest.  Above  a  certain  elevation  no  trees  are 
found,  save  the  balsam-fir,  from  the  dark  color  of  which  the  mountain  obtains  its 
name.  It  is  not  likely  that  any  one  who  has  ever  crossed  the  Blue  Ridge  by  Swan- 
nanoa  Gap  will  forget  the  first  impression  which  the  outlines  of  this  range  make  on 
the  mind.  Sublimity  and  repose  seem  embodied  in  the  sweeping  lines  of  its  massive 
shoulders,  and  its  dark-blue  peaks  stand  forth  in  relief,  if  the  atmosphere  chances  to 
be  clear,  or  wear  a  crown  of  clouds  if  it  is  at  all  hazy.  During  the  season,  parties  of 
excursionists  constantly  visit  it  from  Asheville,  ascending  the  highest  peak,  and  return- 
ing within  three  days ;  but  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  the  mountain  in  a  satisfac- 
tory manner  a  longer  time  is  required. 

Nevertheless,  a  great  deal  can  be  seen   in  even  one  visit  to  the  summit  of  Mount 


THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  THE  SOUTH. 


373 


Mitchell ;  and,  although  nothing  is  more  uncertain  than  the  weather  of  the  Black,  if 
the  visitor  is  fortunate  enough  to  find  a  clear  day,  he  will  obtain  a  view  which  is 
almost  boundless  in  extent.  All  Western  Carolina  lies  spread  below  him,  together  with 
portions  of  Virginia,  Tennessee,  Georgia,  and  South  Carolina.  He  can  trace  across  the 
breadth  of  the  Old  Dominion  the  long,  undulating  line  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  which, 
entering  North  Carolina,  passes  under  the  Black,  and  thence  runs  southerly  until  it 


lAnnlle  River. 

reaches  South-  Carolina,  when  it  turns  to  the  west,  and,  making  a  curve,  joins  the 
Smoky  near  the  northeast  corner  of  Georgia.  Overlooking  this  range,  from  his  greater 
elevation,  he  sees  every  height  in  that  part  of  North  Carolina  which  lies  east  of  it. 
Far  away  on  the  border  of  the  two  Carolinas  stands  a  misty  mound,  which  is  King's 
Mountain,  of  Revolutionary  fame  ;  and  from  this  point  the  eye  sweeps  over  an  illimit- 
able expanse,  returning  to  where  the  spurs  of  the  Blue  Ridge  cover  the  counties  of 
Rutherford,  Burke,  and  McDowell,  with  a  net-work  of  hills. 


374 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


Chief  among  these  is  the  range  of  the  Linville  Mountains,  through  which  the  Lin- 
ville  River  forces  its  way  in  a  gorge  of  striking  beauty.  This  gorge  is  fifteen  miles 
in  length,  and  the  heights  which  overshadow  it  are  in  many  places  not  less  than  two 
thousand  feet  high.  The  river  plunges  into  its  dark  depths  in  a  beautiful  fall,  and 


Linville  Pinnacle. 


then  rushes  forward  over  a  bed  of  rock.  Cliffs  worn  by  the  ceaseless  action  of  the 
water  into  the  most  fantastic  shapes  lean  over  it,  detached  masses  of  granite  strew  its 
channel,  and  the  tumult  of  its  fretted  water  only  ceases  when  it  falls  now  and  then 
into  crystal  pools  of  placid  gentleness. 


THE  MOUNTAINS   OF  THE  SOUTH.  375 

Among  the  mountains  of  the  Linville  range,  that  peak  known  as  Linville  Pinnacle, 
in  Catawba  County,  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  to  the  tourist.  This  mountain-top 
is  easily  attained  on  horseback,  and,  on  reaching  it,  you  find  it  surmounted  by  a  clus- 
ter of  immense  rocks  or  angular  bowlders,  upon  which  you  may  recline  at  your  ease, 
and  look  down,  or  far  away,  upon  a  series  of  rare  and  superb  scenes.  One  of  these, 
and  the  one  here  depicted,  consists  of  a  brotherhood  of  mountains  which  are  particu- 
larly ragged  and  fantastic  in  their  formation — now  shooting  forward,  as  if  to  look 
down  into  a  narrow  valley  or  ravine,  and  then  again  looming  to  the  sky,  as  if  to 
pierce  it  with  their  pointed  summits.  On  another  side  of  the  Pinnacle  is  a  precipice, 
which  seems  to  descend  to  the  very  bowels  of  the  earth  ;  in  another  direction  still, 
you  have  a  full  view  of  Short-off  Mountain,  only  about  a  mile  distant,  which  is  a  per- 
pendicular precipice,  several  thousand  feet  high,  and  the  abrupt  termination  of  a  long 
range  of  mountains ;  and,  turning  to  the  west,  you  look  across  a  valley,  or  champaign 
country,  well-nigh  a  hundred  miles  wide,  which  is  bounded  by  a  range  of  mountains 
that  seems  to  sweep  across  the  world  as  if  on  a  triumphal  march.  But  the  scenery 
of  this  particular  region  of  North  Carolina  is  as  varied  as  it  is  fresh  and  charming ; 
and  such  features  as  the  Hawk's  Bill,  the  Table,  the  Koan,  and  Ginger-Cake  Moun- 
tains, as  well  as  the  Linville  Falls,  are  quite  enough  to  give  it  a  wide  reputation. 
The  mountain  last  mentioned  received  its  outlandish  name  from  a  hermit  named 
Watson,  who  once  lived  at  the  foot  of  it,  in  a  log-cabin,  and  entirely  alone.  His  his- 
tory was  a  mystery  to  every  one  but  himself,  and,  though  remarkably  eccentric,  he 
was  noted  for  his  amiability.  He  had  given  up  the  world  on  account  of  a  disappoint- 
ment in  love,  and  the  utter  contempt  which  he  ever  afterward  manifested  for  the 
gentler  sex  was  a  leading  trait  of  his  character.  Whenever  any  ladies  chanced  to  visit 
him,  he  invariably  treated  them  politely,  but  would  never  speak  to  them ;  he  even 
went  so  far,  in  expressing  his  dislike,  as  to  consume  for  fire-wood,  after  the  ladies  were 
gone,  the  top-rail  of  his  yard-fence,  over  which  they  had  been  compelled  to  pass  on 
their  way  into  his  cabin.  That  old  Watson  "fared  sumptuously  every  day"  could 
not  be  denied ;  but,  whence  came  the  money  that  supported  him,  none  could  divine. 
He  seldom  molested  the  wild  animals  of  the  mountain  where  he  lived,  and  his  chief 
employment  was  the  raising  of  peacocks  and  the  making  of  garments  for  his  own 
use,  which  were  all  elegantly  trimmed  off  with  the  feathers  of  his  favorite  bird.  The 
feathery  suit  in  which  he  kept  himself  arrayed  he  designated  as  his  culgee,  the  mean- 
ing of  which  word  could  never  be  ascertained  ;  and,  long  after  the  deluded  being  had 
passed  away  from  among  the  living,  he  was  spoken  off  as  Culgee  Watson,  and  is  so 
remembered  to  this  day. 

The  traveler  who  approaches  the  Linville  Pinnacle  from  the  south  can  not  fail  to 
be  impressed  by  the  views  he  will  obtain  of  the  Roan  and  Grandfather  Mountains. 
The  first  of  these  derives  its  name  from  the  fact  that,  when  covered  with  snow,  it 
presents  a  roan  color.  It  lies  in  the  States  of  North  Carolina  and  Tennessee,  and  has 
three  peaks,  which  are  all  destitute  of  trees.  The  highest  of  these  is  covered  with  a 
tall  grass,  which  resembles  that  of  the  Western  prairies,  and  where  the  cattle  and 


376  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

horses  of  the  surrounding  farmers,  in  large  numbers,  congregate  throughout  the  vernal 
seasons.  The  ascent  to  the  top  of  this  peak  is  gradual  on  all  sides  but  one ;  but,  on 
the  north,  it  is  quite  abrupt,  and,  to  one  standing  on  the  brow  of  the  great  cliff,  the 
scene  is  exceedingly  grand  and  impressive.  In  accounting  for  the  baldness  of  the 
Eoan  Mountain,  the  Catawba  Indians  relate  the  following  tradition  :  "  There  was  a 
time  when  all  the  nations  of  the  earth  were  at  war  with  the  Catawbas,  and  had  pro- 
claimed their  determination  to  conquer  and  possess  their  country.  On  hearing  this, 
the  Catawbas  became  enraged,  and  challenged  all  their  enemies  to  a  fight  on  the  sum- 
mit of  the  Eoan.  The  challenge  was  accepted,  and  no  less  than  three  famous  battles 
were  fought — the  streams  of  the  land  ran  red  with  blood  ;  a  number  of  tribes  were 
utterly  destroyed ;  but  the  Catawbas  were  victorious.  And  then  it  was  that  the  Great 
Spirit  caused  the  forests  to  wither  from  the  three  peaks  where  the  battles  were  fought, 
and  therefore  it  is  that  the  flowers  which  grow  upon  this  mountain  are  chiefly  of  a 
crimson  hue,  for  they  are  nourished  by  the  blood  of  the  slain."  Of  the  Grandfather 
Mountain  it  may  be  said  that  it  is  altogether  the  wildest  and  most  fantastic  mountain 
of  the  whole  Alleghany  range.  It  is  reputed  to  be  five  thousand  six  hundred  feet 
high,  and  famous  for  its  black  bears.  Its  principal  human  inhabitants,  for  many  years, 
were  a  man  named  Jim  Kiddle  and  his  loving  spouse,  whose  cabin  was  located  near 
the  summit.  The  stories  related  of  this  man  would  fill  a  volume.  He  was  once  acci- 
dentally penned  up  in  one  of  his  bear-traps,  while  baiting,  and,  having  only  a  small 
hatchet  in  his  belt,  he  was  occupied  one  day  and  one  night  in  hewing  his  way  out ; 
but  this  narrow  escape  from  death  caused  him  to  abandon  his  habit  of  swearing  and  to 
become  a  religious  man.  To  the  comprehension  of  this  mountaineer,  the  Grandfather 
was  the  highest  mountain  in  the  world,  and  his  reason  for  believing  this  was,  that,  as 
you  stood  on  the  very  top,  "all  the  other  mountains  upon  earth  lay  rolling  from  it, 
even  to  the  sky."  It  is  said  that  Riddle  was  a  remarkable  marksman  ;  and  one  of  his 
pastimes,  in  the  winter,  was  to  shoot  at  snow-balls,  in  which  elevated  luxury  his  wife, 
Betsey,  was  wont  to  participate  with  enthusiasm.  But,  in  process  of  time,  he  aban- 
doned his  eyrie  to  the  storms,  and  became  a  preacher  in  the  low  country. 

Returning  to  the  region  west  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  we  find  the  Black  diverging  into 
two  chains,  one  of  which  stretches  northward,  with  a  series  of  cone-like  peaks  rising 
along  its  dark  crest,  and  ends  in  a  majestic  pyramid,  while  the  northwestern  ridge 
runs  out  toward  the  Smoky.  Another  branch  is  the  range  of  Craggy,  which  trends 
southward,  with  its  lofty  peaks — the  Bull's  Head,  the  Pinnacle,  and  the  Dome — in 
bold  relief.  This  chain  is  noted  for  the  pastoral  character  of  its  scenery,  and  the 
myriads  of  gorgeoiis  flowers  which  cover  its  slopes.  Here  the  rhododendron — espe- 
cially its  rare,  crimson  variety — grows  to  an  immense  size,  and  makes  the  whole  range, 
in  the  month  of  June,  a  marvel  of  floral  loveliness. 

"Northward  of  the  Black  Mountain  stand  two  famous  heights,  which  Professor 
Guyot  calls  "the  two  great  pillars  on  both  sides  of  the  North  Gate  to  the  high 
mountain-region  of  North  Carolina."  These  are  the  Grandfather  Mountain,  in  the 
Blue  Ridge,  and  the  Roan  Mountain,  in  the  Smoky.  Both  of  these  command  a  wide 


THE  MOUNTAINS   OF  THE  SOUTH. 


377 


Mount  Piegah. 

view,  but  the  Roan  is  specially  remarkable  for  the  extent  of  territory  which  it  over- 
looks. The  traveler  on  its  summit  is  always  told  that  his  gaze  passes  over  seven 
States — to  wit,  North  Carolina,  Virginia,  Tennessee,  Kentucky,  Alabama,  Georgia,  and 
South  Carolina — but,  since  States  are  not  laid  off  in  different  colors,  like  the  squares 
of  a  chess-board,  he  may  be  pardoned  for  perceiving  no  great  difference  in  the  imagi- 
nary lines  which  divide  the  vast  expanse.  The  mountain  itself  and  the  immediate 
view  are  better  worth  attention.  On  one  side  it  commands  the  apparently  infinite 


378  OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 

diversity  of  the  North  Carolina  highlands,  on  the  other  the  rich  valley  of  East  Ten- 
nessee and  the  blue  chain  of  the  Cumberland  Mountains,  stretching  into  Kentucky. 
Like  many  of  the  Smoky  and  Balsam  heights,  its  summit  is  bare  of  timber,  and 
forms  a  level,  verdant  prairie,  ending  in  an  abrupt  precipice  on  the  Tennessee  side. 

Next  to  the  Black,  in  the  order  of  transverse  chains,  comes  the  Balsam,  which, 
in  point  of  length  and  general  magnitude,  is  chief  of  the  cross-ranges.  It  is  fifty 
miles  long,  and  its  peaks  average  six  thousand  feet ;  while,  like  the  Blue  Kidge,  it 
divides  all  waters,  and  is  pierced  by  none.  From  its  southern  extremity  two  great 
spurs  run  out  in  a  northerly  direction.  One  terminates  in  the  Cold  Mountain,  which 
is  more  than  six  thousand  feet  high  ;  the  other  rises  into  the  beautiful  peak  of  Pis- 
gah,  one  of  the  most  noted  landmarks  of  the  country.  Among  the  mountains  which, 
seen  from  Asheville,  lie  in  blue  waves  against  the  southern  horizon,  this  commanding 
pyramid  stands  forth  most  prominently,  and  from  its  symmetrical  outline,  not  less 
than  its  eminence,  attracts  the  eye  at  once.  Nor  does  this  attraction  end  with  the 
first  view.  Its  harmonious  lines  are  a  constant  source  of  delight,  and  the  robes  of 
soft  color  which  it  wears  are  constantly  changing  and  ever  charming.  To  see  it,  as 
it  often  appears,  a  glorified  crest  of  violet,  against  a  sky  divinely  flushed  with  sunset 
rose  and  gold,  is  one  of  those  pleasures  which  custom  can  not  stale. 

It  follows,  naturally,  with  all  who  have  the  true  spirit  of  mountaineering,  that 
they  desire  to  stand  on  that  uplifted  eminence.  Those  who  carry  this  desire  into 
effect  are  gratified  by  a  view  less  extensive  than  that  of  the  Black  or  the  Balsam, 
but  hardly  less  worth  beholding.  The  summit  of  Mount  Pisgah  forms  the  corner  of 
the  counties  of  Buncombe,  Henderson,  Transylvania,  and  Haywood,  and  over  the  out- 
spread face  of  each — broken  by  innumerable  hill-waves  and  smiling  valleys — the  gaze 
passes  to  where  the  tall  peaks  send  their  greeting  from  the  borders  of  South  Carolina 
and  Tennessee.  Near  by  rise  the  Cold  Mountain  and  Shining  Rock,  with  the  wooded 
heights  of  Haywood  rolling  downward  to  the  fertile  valley  of  the  Pigeon — a  beautiful 
stream,  which  finally  cuts  its  way  through  the  Smoky  and  joins  the  French  Broad  in 
Tennessee. 

The  course  of  the  latter  river  is  plainly  to  be  marked  by  its  width  of  cultivated 
lowlands,  as  it  passes  through  Transylvania  and  Henderson,  to  where  Asheville  lies, 
surrounded  by  an  amphitheatre  of  hills.  Among  these  hills  the  river  enters,  and 
pours  its  current  along  a  constantly-deepening  gorge,  narrow  as  a  Western  caflon,  and 
inexpressibly  grand,  until  it  also  cuts  a  passage  through  the  Smoky,  and  reaches  Ten- 
nessee. For  thirty-six  miles  its  waters  well  deserve  their  musical  Cherokee  name — 
Tahkeeostee,  "the  Racing  River" — and  the  splendor  of  their  ceaseless  tumult  fasci- 
nates both  eye  and  ear. 

There  is  a  greater  attraction  in  the  unknown  than  in  the  known,  however ;  and 
the  traveler  who  has  followed  the  French  Broad  to  where  it  surges  around  Mountain 
Island  and  sweeps  beneath  Paint  Rock  ;  who  has  stood  on  the  hills  of  Asheville,  and 
admired  the  gentle  loveliness  of  the  valleys  which  encompass  it ;  who  has  tracked  the 
Swannanoa  to  its  birthplace  in  the  ice-cold  springs  of  the  Black  Mountain,  and  climbed 


THE  MOUNTAINS   OF  THE  SOUTH. 


379 


to  the  summit  of  that  Appalachian  patriarch — it  is  natural  that  such  a  traveler,  turn- 
ing his  back  on  these  places  made  familiar  by  exploration,  should  look  with  longing 
at  the  dark  chain  of  the  Balsam,  forming  so  lofty  a  barrier  between  himself  and  the 
still  wilder,  still  more  beautiful  region  that  lies  farther  westward. 


The  French  Broad. 


If  he  possesses  courage  and  resolution,  if  he  does  not  shrink  from  trifling  hard- 
ships, and  if  he  can  endure  cheerfully  a  few  inconveniences,  let  him  resolve  to  scale 
those  heights,  and  gaze  at  least  upon  all  that  lies  beyond.  There  is  very  little  diffi- 


380  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

culty  in  executing  such  a  resolution,  and  nobody  who  can  appreciate  the  sublime  in 
natural  scenery,  or  who  likes  the  zest  of  adventure,  will  ever  regret  having  exe- 
cuted it. 

Should  he  be  able  to  do  so,  let  him  descend  Mount  Pisgah  on  the  Transylvania 
side,  for  in  all  this  Eden  of  the  sky  there  is  no  spot  which  wears  the  crown  of  sylvan 
beauty  so  peerlessly  as  that  fair  county.  Other  counties  may  boast  mountains  as 
high,  and  atmosphere  as  pure,  but  no  other  has  in  its  aspect  such  a  mingling  of  the 
pastoral  and  the  grand,  no  other  possesses  such  graceful  alternations  of  landscape, 
which,  with  the  strong  effect  of  contrast,  charm  the  beholder  at  once.  It  is  with  a 
thrill  of  positive  rapture  that  one  sees  for  the  first  time  the  valley  of  the  French 
Broad — serene  with  golden  plenty,  and  held  in  the  soft  embrace  of  encircling  heights. 
In  the  midst  of  this  valley  is  situated  the  pleasant  village  of  Brevard,  where  the 
traveler  will  do  well  to  establish  his  headquarters.  He  will  find  most  comfortable 
lodging  and  most  admirable  fare,  together  with  that  cordial  hospitality  which  is  ever 
ready  to  oblige  the  wayfarer  and  stranger.  Should  he  possess  that  mountaineering 
spirit  to  which  allusion  has  been  made,  he  need  not  fear  that  time  will  hang  heavily 
on  his  hands.  There  are  speckled  trout  in  the  streams ;  there  are  deer  in  the  coverts 
of  the  forests ;  and  there  are  countless  places  of  picturesque  interest,  many  of  which 
are  within  the  easy  range  of  a  day's  excursion. 

This  queen  of  mountain-valleys  lies  twenty-two  hundred  feet  above  the  sea,  and 
has  at  this  point  an  average  width  of  two  miles.  The  three  forks  of  the  French 
Broad — two  of  which  rise  in  the  Balsam,  and  one  in  the  Blue  Ridge — meet  at  its 
upper  end,  and  the  united  stream  flows,  with  many  a  winding  curve,  down  the  em- 
erald plain.  Framing  the  broad  fields  and  grassy  meadows  are  forest-clad  heights, 
and  yet  beyond  rises  the  blue  majesty  of  the  grandest  peaks  in  Western  Carolina. 

To  fully  appreciate  the  charm  which  fills  ever}'  detail  of  this  picture,  it  should 
be  viewed  from  the  summit  of  a  cliff  on  its  eastern  side  known  as  Dunn's  Rock. 
The  elevation  of  the  hill,  which  rises  abruptly  in  this  castellated  crag,  is  probably 
not  more  than  five  hundred  feet  above  the  level  of  the  river ;  but  the  river  is  one 
which  lingers  in  the  memory  in  colors  that  no  lapse  of  time  can  dim.  While  it  is 
easy  to  find  more  extended  views,  it  would  be  impossible  to  find  one  of  greater  fair- 
ness. The  pastoral  valley  lies  spread  in  smiling  beauty  for  fifteen  miles,  with  every 
curve  of  the  river  plainly  to  be  traced  throughout  that  length,  the  shining  water 
fully  revealed  in  many  a  mile  of  undulating  stretch.  Belts  of  shadowy  woodlands 
stretch  across  the  cultivated  expanse,  roads  like  yellow  ribbons  wind  here  and  there, 
dwellings  gleam  out,  half  hidden  in  trees,  and  Brevard  nestles  at  the  feet  of  the  bold 
elevations  which  rise  behind  it. 

It  is  difficult  to  say  whether  the  eye  lingers  with  greater  pleasure  on  the  idyllic 
softness  of  this  scene,  or  on  the  magical  distance  where  peak  rises  beyond  peak  until 
the  most  remote  melt  into  blue  infinity.  Farthest  toward  the  west  stands  the  sharp 
crest  of  Chimney-Top  and  the  massive  outlines  of  Great  Hogback — a  noble  mountain, 
deserving  a  better  name.  From  these  well-known  summits  the  waving  line  sweeps 


THE  MOUNTAINS   OF  THE  SOUTH. 


381 


onward  in  azure  beauty 
until  it  culminates  in  the 
peaks  of  the  Balsam.  The 
loftiest  of  these  stand  in 
full  view,  together  with  the 
whole  length  of  the  range 
of  Pisgali.  Symmetrical  as 
ever,  this  familiar  pyramid 
appears,  among  a  multi- 
tude of  lesser  heights,  while 
through  the  soft-hued  gap, 
where  the  Arcadian  valley 
winds  around  Fodder-Stock 
Mountain,  one  discovers 
faint  and  far  the  mighty 
dome  of  the  Black. 

Besides  Dunn's  Rock, 
there  are  many  eminences 
around  Brevard  which  re- 
pay a  hundred-fold  the  ex- ' 
ertion  of  ascending  them  ; 
while  down  the  glens  of 
the  hills  impetuous  streams 
come  rushing  in  Undine- 
like  cascades.  Such  are  the 
Falls  of  Conestee,  of  Look- 
ing-Glass,  and  Glen  Can- 
non. Into  these  recesses 
the  lances  of  sun-light  are 
scarcely  able  to  pierce  to 
find  the  laughing  water, 
so  luxuriant  is  the  forest- 
growth  which  forms  depths 
of  twilight  obscurity,  where 
ferns,  and  mosses,  and  num- 
berless bright,  sweet  flow- 
ers flourish. 

From  Brevard  the  way 
to  the  Balsam  is  plain  and 
short.  Following  the  north 
fork  of  the  French  Broad 
into  what  is  known  as  the 


Cliffs  on  the  French  Broad. 


382  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

Gloucester  Settlement,  the  traveler  will  find  himself  at  the  foot  of  this  range.  Here 
he  can  readily  secure  a  guide,  and  make  the  ascent  of  the  peaks,  which  attain  their 
highest  elevation  at  this  point.  Professor  Guyot  has  recorded  his  opinion  that,  "con- 
sidering these  great  features  of  physical  structure " -(the  Balsam  heights),  "and  the 
considerable  elevation  of  the  valleys  which  form  the  base  of  these  high  chains,  we  may 
say  that  this  vast  cluster  of  highlands  between  the  French  Broad  and  the  Tuckasegee 
Rivers  is  the  culminating  region  of  the  great  Appalachian  system." 

It  is  at  least  certain  that  their  appearance  impresses  one  with  a  deeper  sense  of 
grandeur  and  sublimity  than  even  the  Black  Mountain.  Immense  ridges  rise  on  all 
sides ;  lofty  peaks  lift  their  heads  into  the  dazzling  region  of  the  upper  air ;  escarp- 
ments of  rugged  rock  contrast  the  verdure  of  the  forest  which  clothes  all  other 
points ;  while  trackless  gorges  and  deep  chasms,  where  the  roar  of  unseen  cataracts 
alone  breaks  the  silence  of  solitude,  are  the  characteristic  features  of  the  region. 
Leaving  the  domain  of  Gloucester,  a  traveler  of  faint  heart  and  wavering  courage 
may  be  struck  with  dismay  at  the  wildness  of  the  scenes  into  which  he  is  led.  The 
path  is  a  trail  only  visible  to  the  eyes  of  a  mountaineer,  which  plunges  down  precipi- 
tous hill-sides,  winds  along  dizzy  verges,  where  a  single  false  step  would  send  horse 
and  rider  crashing  into  the  abyss  below,  and  mounts  ascents  so  steep  that  the  saddles 
threaten  to  slip  back  over  the  straining  animals,  and  a  cautious  rider  will  look  well 
to  his  girths.  Knob  after  knob  is  climbed,  and  yet  the  dominating  heights — as  one 
catches  glimpses  of  them  now  and  then — seem  far  away  as  ever.  Nevertheless,  it  is 
evident  that  one's  labor  is  not  in  vain.  The  air  grows  more  rarefied,  the  horizon 
expands,  the  world  unrolls  like  an  azure  scroll,  and  over  it  spreads  the  marvelous 
haze  of  distance. 

.  "  It  was  the  good  fortune  of  the  writer,"  says  a  lady  tourist,  who  has  written 
much  of  this  region,  "  to  be  one  of  a  party  who  made  this  ascent  during  the  past 
summer,  and  it  is  little  to  say  that  all  difficulties  and  perils  were  forgotten  when  we 
stood  at  last  on  the  summit  of  the  highest  peaks,  and  felt  that  we  were  in  the  center 
of  the  great  system  of  diverging  heights  spread  around  us,  far  as  the  gaze  could 
reach,  to  the  uttermost  bounds  of  land  and  sky.  There  is  an  intense  exhilaration  of 
mind  and  body  consequent  upon  attaining  such  an  elevation,  and  we  were  exceedingly 
fortunate  in  having  two  days  of  perfect  weather — days  of  the  radiant  softness  which 
only  September  gives. 

"  The  spot  where  we  found  ourselves  was  a  treeless  tract  of  several  hundred  acres 
on  top  of  the  Balsam  range.  The  Cherokees  believe  that  these  open  spaces  are  the 
foot-prints  of  the  devil,  made  as  he  stepped  from  mountain  to  mountain,  and  this 
largest  prairie  they  regard  with  peculiar  awe  as  his  favorite  sleeping-place — probably 
selected  because  he  likes  now  and  then  a  complete  change  of  climate.  On  maps  of 
the  State  this  point  is  marked  '  The  Devil's  Old  Field,'  and,  apart  from  the  associa- 
tion with  his  satanic  majesty,  the  title  is  not  altogether  inapposite.  So  peculiar  is 
the  appearance  of  these  openings,  where  grass  and  bushes  of  all  kinds  flourish  luxu- 
riantly, that  one  is  almost  forced  to  believe  that  at  some  remote  period  man  had  his 


THE  MOUNTAINS   OF  THE  SOUTH.  383 

habitation  here.  Like  the  Black,  the  Balsam  takes  its  name  from  the  fir  which  grows 
upon  it,  but,  unlike  the  Black,  these  trees,  instead  of  covering  the  whole  upper  part 
of  the  mountain,  are  found  only  on  the  north  side.  On  the  southern  slopes  the 
deciduous  forest  grows  to  the  summit,  and  there — as  if  a  line  of  exact  division  had 
been  drawn — the  latter  growth  ends,  and  the  somber  realm  of  the  balsam  begins. 

"  Having  been  bold  enough   to  pitch  our  camp  in  the  midst  of  the   Devil's  Old 
Field,  we  were  probably  punished  by  finding  ourselves  next  morning  wrapped  in  mist 


Hawlfi  Bill  Mountain. 

at  the  time  that  we  should  have  been  witnessing  the  sun  rise  beyond  a  thousand 
peaks.  By  eight  o'clock,  however,  the  clouds  lifted,  the  mist  dissolved,  and,  seated 
on  the  rocky  crest  of  a  high  knob,  with  air  so  lucid  and  fresh  that  it  seemed  rather 
of  heaven  than  earth  fanning  our  brows,  we  were  truly  '  girdled  with  the  gleaming 
world.'  On  one  side  spread  the  scenes  over  which  we  had  journeyed — every  height 
south  of  the  Black  clearly  visible,  and  distinctly  to  be  identified — while  on  the  other 
the  country  on  which  we  had  come  to  gaze  stretched  westward,  until  its  great  ridges, 


384  OUR  NATIVE  LAND.      . 

like  giant  billows,  blended  their  sapphire  outlines  with  the  sky.  Overlooking  this 
immense  territory,  one  felt  overwhelmed  by  its  magnitude,  and  the  imagination  vainly 
strove  to  picture  the  innumerable  scenes  of  loveliness  that  lay  below,  among  what 
seemed  a  very  chaos  of  peaks,  gorges,  cliffs,  and  vales. 

"That  the  face  of  this  part  of  the  country  should  appear  especially  covered  with 
mountains  is  not  strange,  when  one  considers  that  five  great  ranges  traverse  and  sur- 
round it.  Looking  west  from  the  Balsam,  we  saw  on  our  left  the  Blue  Kidge,  on 
our  right  the  Smoky,  and  in  front  the  Cullowhee,  with  the  Nantahala  lying  cloud-like 
in  the  far  distance.  Countless  intervening  chains  spread  over  the  vast  scene,  with 
graceful  lines  blending,  and  dominant  points  ascending,  forming  a  whole  of  wondrous 
harmony.  Near  at  hand  the  heights  of  the  Balsam,  clad  in  a  rich  plumage  of  forest, 
surrounded  us  in  serried  ranks — a  succession  of  magnificent  peaks,  infinitely  diversified 
in  shape,  and  nearly  approaching  the  same  standard  of  elevation.  What  exquisite 
veils  of  color  they  drew  around  them,  as  they  receded,  wrapping  their  mighty  forms 
in  tenderest  purple  and  blue  !  The  infinite  majesty  of  the  great  expanse,  the  unut- 
terable repose  which  seemed  to  wrap  the  towering  summits  in  their  eternal  calm,  filled 
the  mind  with  delight  and  awe.  No  words  seemed  fitting  save  the  exultant  ones  of 
the  canticle  :  '  0  ye  mountains  and  hills,  bless  ye  the  Lord,  praise  him  and  magnify 
him  for  ever  ! ' 

"  On  the  summit  of  the  height  whei'e  we  sat,  the  counties  of  Haywood,  Jackson, 
and  Transylvania  meet.  Of  these  Jackson  is  the  most  westwardly,  and  is  rich  in 
scenery  of  the  noblest  description,  being  bounded  by  the  Balsam,  the  Blue  Kidge,  the 
Cullowhee,  and  Great  Smoky — the  innumerable  spurs  of  which  cover  it  in  all  direc- 
tions. Yet  here,  as  elsewhere,  the  pastoral  joins  hands  with  the  rugged.  These 
mountains  are  nearly  all  fine  'ranges,'  where  thousands  of  cattle  are  annually  reared 
with  little  trouble  and  less  expense  to  their  owners  ;  and  through  the  midst  of  the 
country  the  wildly  beautiful  Tuckasegee  flows.  Rising  in  the  Blue  Ridge,  this  river 
forces  its  way  through  the  Cullowhee  Mountains  in  a  cataract  and  gorge  of  over- 
whelming grandeur,  and,  augmented  at  every  step  by  innumerable  mountain-torrents, 
thunders,  foams,  and  dashes  over  its  rocky  bed,  until  it  is  imited  to  the  Tennessee — 
which  comes  with  headlong  haste  down  from  the  Balsam — when,  losing  its  name  in 
the  latter,  it  cuts  a  canon  of  great  majesty  through  the  Smoky,  and  pours  its  cur- 
rent into  the  valley  of  East  Tennessee.  In  Jackson,  on  the  southern  side  of  the  Blue 
Ridge,  the  head-waters  of  the  Savannah  River  also  rise.  The  Chatooga,  which 
washes  the  base  of  the  great  Whiteside  Mountain,  flows  into  Georgia,  and,  with  the 
Tallulah,  forms  the  Tugaloo,  which  is  the  main  head  of  the  Savannah." 

At  the  southern  end  of  this  county  is  Cashier's  Valley,  famous  for  its  salubrious 
climate,  and  so  accessible  from  South  Carolina  that  many  gentlemen  from  the  low- 
country  have  erected  summer  residences  there.  It  is  more  of  a  table-land  than  a, 
valley,  lying  on  the  side  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  so  near  the  summit  that  its  elevation 
above  the  sea  can  not  be  less  than  thirty-five  hundred  feet,  and  hemmed  in  on  all 
sides  by  splendid  peaks,  among  which  Chimney-Top  stands  forth  conspicuously,  while 


THE  MOUNTAINS   OF  THE  SOUTH.  385 

in  full  view,  only  four  miles  southwest,  Whiteside  lifts  its  shining  crest,  as  a  beacon 
and  landmark.  At  this  point  the  Cullowhee  Mountains  join  the  Blue  Ridge.  There 
are  few  parts  of  the  country  less  visited,  and  there  is  none  that  repays  exploration 
better.  Whiteside,  alone,  is  worth  traveling  any  distance  to  see,  for  it  is  undoubtedly 
the  grandest  rampart  of  this  picturesque  land.  Standing  more  than  five  thousand 
feet  above  the  ocean,  its  southeastern  face  is  an  immense  precipice  of  white  rock — 
the  constituent  parts  of  which  are  said  to  be  quartz,  feldspar,  and  gneiss — which, 
rising  to  tLe  height  of  eighteen  hundred  feet,  is  fully  two  miles  long,  and  curved  so 
as  to  form  part  of  the  arc  of  a  circle.  A  more  imposing  countenance  never  mountain 
wore,  and  it  is  impossible  to  say  whether  its  sublimity  strikes  one  most  from  the  base 
or  from  the  summit. 

To  reach  the  foot  of  the  stupendous  precipice,  it  is  necessary  to  climb  for  prob- 
ably a  mile  through  a  bewildering  world  of  green  woods  and  massive  rocks.  When 
one  has  fairly  entered  these  vast  forests,  their  tangled  depths  of  sylvan  shade  and 
sheen  form  a  region  of  absolute  enchantment.  On  every  side  are  graceful  forms  of 
trees  and  clusters  of  foliage,  draping  vines  and  delicate  tendrils,  velvet  mosses  and 
ferns,  in  plumy  profusion.  Starry  flowers  lift  their  sweet  chalices,  the  massive  trunks 
of  trees  "fit  for  the  mast  of  some  tall  admiral"  lie  buried  in  verdure.  Under  arches 
of  cloistral  greenness  the  crystal  streams  come  glancing,  like — 


' .  .  .  a  naiad's  silvery  feet 
In  quick  and  coy  retreat," 


and  the  music  of  their  swiftly  flowing  water  alone  breaks  the  woodland  stillness. 
Through  such  scenes  one  ascends  to  the  huge  cliffs  of  Whiteside,  and  pauses  be- 
neath them  with  a  sense  of  amazement  and  awe.  The  first  precipice  rises  six  or 
seven  hundred  feet  in  sparkling  whiteness,  with  an  outward  inclination  of  probably 
sixty  feet.  At  one  or  two  points  it  is  practicable  for  an  expert  climber  to  scale  this 
cliff,  and  stand  on  the  second  and  even  grander  ledge.  From  this  shelf — where  a 
narrow  belt  of  trees  runs,  presenting  from  a  distance  the  appearance  of  a  verdant 
zone  across  the  mountain's  side — the  higher  precipice  rises  in  majestic  ascent  for  more 
than  a  thousand  feet.  It  is  not  altogether  smooth  of  surface — as  one  fancies  when 
approaching  it — but  is  worn  by  the  great  forces  of  Nature,  concerning  which  we  can 
only  vaguely  conjecture,  into  numerous  escarpments  of  wild  and  inexpressibly  pictur- 
esque form.  Cave-like  recesses  abound,  and  the  largest  of  these  is  known  as  "  the 
Devil's  Supreme  Court- House."  It  is  an  enormous  cavity  in  the  face  of  the  precipice, 
where,  according  to  Cherokee  tradition,  the  prince  of  the  powers  of  darkness  will  on 
the  day  of  doom  erect  his  throne,  and  try  all  spirits  .who  fall  under  his  jurisdiction. 
The  approach  to  it  is  along  a  ledge  so  narrow  and  dangerous  that  few  people  are 
sufficiently  cool  of  head  and  steady  of  nerve  to  dare  its  passage.  Pending  the  session 
of  the  court,  the  cave  is  a  favorite  haunt  of  the  bears  which  still  abound  in  the 
neighborhood.  Hunters  sometimes  go  thither  to  seek  them  ;  but  there  is  a  story  told 
of  one  hunter  which  might  dissuade  others  from  undertaking  such  an  expedition. 

25 


386  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

This  man,  hoping  to  find  a  bear  in  the  cave,  was  proceeding  cautiously  along  the 
ledge  which  led  to  it,  when  he  suddenly,  to  his  dismay,  found  the  bear  sooner  than 
he  wanted  him.  Bruin  had  left  the  cave,  and  was  leisurely  taking  Ms  way  .along  the 
narrow  shelf,  when  he,  too,  was  unpleasantly  surprised  by  the  appearance  of  a  man  in 
his  path-  Both  came  to  a  dead  halt.  To  the  hunter  it  was  a  moment  of  trying 
anxiety.  To  turn  was  impossible,  even  if  it  would  not  have  been  ill-advised  to  do 
so.  He  had  his  gun,  but  dared  not  fire,  for  fear  of  only  wounding  the  animal,  and 
thereby  rendering  it  desperate.  Fortunately,  it  was  one  of  the  occasions  when  inac- 
tion proved  the  best  thing  possible.  After  they  had  steadily  eyed  each  other  for 
some  time,  the  bear  decided  to  retrace  his  steps.  He  made  an  attempt  to  turn,  but 
the  effort  sealed  his  fate.  His  weight  overbalanced  him,  and  down  the  precipice  he 
went,  a  crashing  mass,  in  which  there  was  not  a  whole  bone  when  the  hunter  de- 
scended to  it. 

But,  if  the  cliffs  are  grand,  what  can  be  said  of  the  view  when  the  bold  brow  of 
the  mountain  is  gained  ?  It  is  readily  ascended  from  the  rear,  and,  when  one  ad- 
vances to  the  verge  of  its  splendid  crest,  the  beauty  of  the  prospect  thrills  one  like 
noble  music.  The  smiling  valleys  and  green  depths  of  forest  far  below,  the  azure 
fairness  of  distant  heights,  the  misty  sweep  of  ocean-like  plains,  the  fleecy  clouds 
which  drift  across  the  sky — all  combine  to  awaken  emotions  of  delight.  •'  From  the 
orient  to  the  drooping  west,"  mountains  on  mountains  rise,  cloud-girt,  blue-robed, 
soft  as  the  hills  of  paradise.  Southward  the  plains  of  South  Carolina  fade  away  into 
glimmering  haze,  while  west  of  the  Cullowhee  lies  the  domain  of  Macon  and  Cherokee 
— a  territory  abounding  in  lofty  ranges  and  fruitful  valleys,  rushing  streams  and  im- 
mense .forests — extending  to  where  the  cloud-capped  peaks  of  Georgia  are  defined 
against  the  distant  horizon.  Turn  where  one  will,  scenes  of  loveliness  meet  the  sight, 
and  the  delicious  purity  of  the  atmosphere  makes  one  dream  of  a  sanitarium  which 
may  be  some  day  established  here.  It  is  impossible,  ^however,  to  regret  that  such  a 
day  has  not  yet  come,  that  multitudes  of  tourists  have  not  yet  invaded  these  fair 
solitudes,  and-^-engraved  their  names  upon  the  shining  rocks  ! 

One  of  the  most  interesting  mountains  of  the  Great  Smoky  range  is  known  as 
Smoky  Mountain,  and  it  has  its  base  in  Tennessee  as  well  as  in  North  Carolina. 
The  chief  attraction  is  a  singular  cliff  known  as  Alum  Cave,  and  the  best  approach 
to  it  is  from  the  Tennessee  side.  You  leave  your  horses  on  the  top  of  the  mountain 
and  then  journey  for  six  miles  up  and  down,  over  everything  in.  the  way  of  rocks 
and  ruined  vegetation  which  Nature  could  devise,  until  you  come  to  a  mountain-side 
about  two  miles  from  the  starting-point  in  a  direct  line. 

Koaring  along  at  the  base  of  this  mountain  is  a  small  stream,  from  which  you 
have  to  climb  a  precipice  in  a  zigzag  way,  which  is  at  least  two  thousand  feet  high, 
when  you  find  yourself  on  a  level  spot  of  pulverized  stone,  with  a  rocky  roof  extend- 
ing over  your  head  a  distance  of  perhaps  sixty  feet.  The  length  of  this  hollow  in  the 
mountain,  or  "  cave,"  as  it  is  called,  is  nearly  four  hundred  feet,  and,  from  the  brow 
of  the  beetling  precipice  to  the  level  below,  the  distance  is  about  one  hundred  and 


THE  MOUNTAINS   0V  THE  SOUTH. 


387 


fifty  feet.      The  top  of   the  cliff  is  covered  with  a  variety  of   rare  and  curious  plants, 
and  directly  over  its  center  trickles  a  little  stream,  which  forms  a  pool,  like  a  fountain 


in  front  of  a  spacious  piazza.  The  ingredients  of  the  rock  composing  this  cliff  are 
alum,  epsom  salts,  saltpeter,  magnesia,  and  copperas,  and  the  water  which  oozes  there- 
from is  distinguished  for  its  strong  medicinal  qualities.  This  strange  and  almost  in- 


388  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

accessible,  but  unquestionably  very  valuable  cave,  belongs  to  an  organized  company, 
and,  before  the  late  war,  had  been  worked  with  considerable  profit,  on  account  of  its 
alum.  The  scenery  upon  which  this  cave  looks  down  is  also  decidedly  novel  and  in- 
teresting. From  one  point  of  view  the  mountains  descend  abruptly  from  either  side, 
into  a  kind  of  amphitheatre,  where  the  one  on  the  right  terminates  in  a  very  narrow 
and  ragged  ridge,  which  is  without  vegetation,  while  far  beyond,  directly  in  front  of 
the  cave,  rises  a  lofty  and  pointed  mountain  backed  by  some  three  or  four  peaks  of 
inferior  magnitude.  The  ridge  alluded  to  is  very  high,  but  yet  the  cave  looks  down 
upon  it,  and  it  is  so  fantastic  in  its  appearance  that,  from  different  points  of  view, 
may  be  discovered  natural  holes,  or  windows,  opening  through'  the  entire  wall,  while 
from  other  points  of  view  the  great  rocky  mass  resembles  a  ruined  castle,  a  decayed 
battlement,  or  the  shattered  tower  of  a  huge  cathedral.  To  gaze  upon  this  prospect 
at  the  sunset  hour,  when  the  mountains  are  tinged  with  a  rosy  hue,  and  the  great 
hollow,  or  basin,  before  you  is  filled  with  a  purple  atmosphere,  and  the  rocky  ledge  is 
basking  in  the  sunlight  like  a  huge  monster  on  the  bosom  of  a  placid  lake,  affords 
one  of  the  most  curious  and  impressive  scenes  imaginable.  But  the  locality,  under 
any  of  its  phases,  will  amply  repay  the  lover  of  fine  scenery  for  a  long  pilgrimage. 

By  crossing  northward  from  the  Smoky  Mountain  range — that  bold  projection  of 
territory  with  which  Tennessee  divides  North  Carolina  from  Virginia — we  reach  the 
noble  mountains  known  as  the  Cumberland  range,  this  being  in  reality  a  spur  of  the 
main  Alleghany  system  which  stretches  down  through  Virginia  and  North  Carolina. 
Here  the  eye  meets  almost  every  variety  of  picturesque  expression.  Here  and  there 
are  broad  table-lands  on  which  cities  might  be  built,  terminating  abruptly  in  escarp- 
ments and  vertical  precipices,  looking  like  the  fronts  of  stupendous  fortresses  built  by 
the  hands  of  giants.  There  are  rocks  full  of  grand  aspects ;  ca'ves  that  might  be  the 
hiding-places  of  the  winds  ;  melodious  water-falls ;  glens  and  chasms ;  and  forests  so 
dense  that  only  the  most  experienced  hunter  could  ever  thread  his  way  in  safety. 
The  changeless  masonry  of  Nature  is  piled  up  in  every  conceivable  shape.  The 
mountains  of  the  Cumberland  region  take  the  form  of  ridges  parallel  to  one  another. 
In  these  there  are  a  number  of  great  fissures,  or  gate-ways,  through  which  the  traveler 
must  pass  in  crossing  the  range. 

The  most  celebrated  of  these  openings  is  Cumberland  Gap,  in  East  Tennessee,  near 
the  Kentucky  border,  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  southeast  from  Lexington. 
This  is  the  only  practicable  passage-way  for  a  distance  of  about  eighty  miles  for  the 
travel  of  man  or  beast.  It  is  some  five  hundred  feet  in  depth,  about  six  miles  in 
length,  and  so  narrow  in  many  places  that  there  is  scarcely  room  for  the  roadway. 
Mountains  rise  on  either  side  to  a  height  of  twelve  hundred  feet,  and,  when  the  ob- 
server has  climbed  their  frowning  steeps,  he  beholds  one  of  the  most  beautiful  views 
in  America.  Southward  are  the  lovely  valleys  of  Tennessee,  looking  in  the  distance 
like  an  undulating  plain,  on  which  human  handiwork  has  written  its  significant 
marks.  Gazing  to  the  north,  a  series  of  rolling  mountains,  looking  like  huge  billows, 
rise  as  barriers  to  hide  the  smiling  fields  of  Kentucky. 


THE  MOUNTAINS   OF  THE  SOUTH.  389 

During  the  late  civil  war  Cumberland  Gap  resounded  to  the  tramp  of  armies  surg- 
ing back  and  forth.  For  a  time  it  was  held  by  the  Confederates  as  a  fortified  posi- 
tion, and  cannon  bristled  from  the  adjoining  heights  ;  for  on  the  possession  of  that 
secluded  mountain  recess  depended  the  safety  of  the  railway  connections  between 
Eichmond  and  the  southwestern  portions  of  the  revolted  States. 

The  road  through  the  Gap  curves  like  a  great  ribbon,  to  take  every  advantage  of  a 
precarious  track,  and  it  is  indeed  but  the  enlarged  war-trail  once  traveled  by  the 
Cherokees  and  other  savages  in  making  their  incursions  on  the  white  settlements. 
Here  Boone  and  the  early  pioneers  passed  back  and  forth,  and  nearly  every  mile  of 
the  whole  region  is  associated  with  a  bloody  ambuscade,  a  legend,  or  a  tradition.  So 
lonely  and  wild  is  it  even  to-day  that  one  would  not  feel  it  incongruous  to  hear  the 
shrill  war-whoop  of  the  red-skin,  or  the  crack  of  the  rifle  in  answer  to  the  challenge. 

There  are  but  few  residents  in  the  Gap.  A  rude  grocery  here  and  there  marks 
the  primitive  commerce  of  the  region,  the  trader  exchanging  whisky,  clothing,  etc., 
for  the  products  of  the  region,  which  thus  find  their  way  to  market.  The  mount- 
aineers are  a  sturdy,  warm-hearted  race,  unlearned  in  the  courtesies  of  life,  but  full 
of  generous  hospitality.  During  the  civil  war  there  was  battle  to  the  knife  between 
families  in  this  section,  as  there  were  a  great  many  Unionists  among  the  East  Ten- 
nessee mountaineers,  and  some  of  the  bloodiest  scenes  in  guerrilla  warfare  were  perpe- 
trated in  the  vicinity  of  the  Gap.  The  mineral  wealth  of  these  mountains  is  believed 
to  be  enormous,  and,  when  the  organization  of  industry  and  the  completion  of  rail- 
ways through  this  region  opens  their  hidden  resources,  it  is  probable  that  the  results 
will  be  extraordinary. 

Another  remarkable  aspect  of  mountain-scenery  in  Tennessee  attracts  us  to  the 
southern  border  of  the  State,  in  the  vicinity  of  the  thriving  city  of  Chattanooga. 
Between  and  around  the  bases  of  towering  heights  winds  the  swift  and  tumultuous 
Tennessee  River,  a  journey  on  which  well  repays  one  in  the  scenes  of  beauty  that 
successively  unfold  themselves  to  the  eye.  From  the  house-windows  of  Chattanooga 
the  lofty  form  of  Lookout  Mountain,  one  of  the  historic  heights  of  the  country,  may 
be  seen  lifting  itself  majestically  in  its  escalade  of  the  clouds.  Let  us  make  the 
ascent  and  gaze  on  a  scene  which,  whether  from  its  magnificent  beauty  or  its  historic 
association,  is  well  worthy  of  the  deepest  interest  of  the  tourist. 

A  drive  of  about  two  miles  southward  from  Chattanooga  brings  us  to  the  base  of 
the  mountain,  and  here  we  begin  the  long,  sloping  ascent.  As  we  ascend,  forms  of 
the  most  varied  and  striking  character  are  displayed  in  the  cliffs  and  ravines  of  the 
mountain,  and  superb  prospects  of  the  far  valley  and  the  winding  Tennessee  gleam 
through  the  net-work  of  trees.  The  journey  up  Lookout  is  continually  and  pleas- 
antly interrupted  by  lovely  picturesque  half-glimpses  and  broken  vistas.  The  first 
sensation  of  the  prospect  from  the  top  is  merely  that  of  immensity.  The  eye  sweeps 
the  vast  spaces  that  are  bounded  only  by  the  haze  of  distance.  On  three  sides  no 
obstacles  intervene  between  your  altitude  and  the  utmost  reaches  of  the  vision.  To 
your  right  stretch  successive  ranges  of  hills  and  mountains  that  seem  to  rise  one  above 


390 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


Oumberland  Gap,  from  EagU  Cliff. 


THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  THE  SOUTH.  391 

another  until  they  dispute  form  and  character  with  the  clouds.  Your  vision  extends, 
you  are  told,  to  the  great  Smoky  Mountains  of  North  Carolina,  which  lie  nearly  a 
hundred  miles  distant.  The  whole  vast  space  between  is  packed  with  huge  undula- 
tions of  hills,  which  seem  to  come  rolling  in  upon  your  mountain-shore,  like  giant 
waves.  It  is,  indeed,  a  very  sea  of  space,  and  your  stand  of  rocks  and  cliffs  juts  up 
in  strange  isolation  amid  the  gray  waste  of  blending  hills.  Directly  before  you  the 
undulations  are  repeated,  fading  away  in  the  far  distance  where  the  Cumberland  Hills 
of  Kentucky  hide  their  tops  in  the  mists  of  the  horizon.  Your  eye  covers  the  entire 
width  of  Tennessee  ;  it  reaches,  so  it  is  said,  even  to  Virginia,  and  embraces  within 
its  scope  territory  of  seven  States.  These  are  Georgia,  Tennessee,  Alabama,  Virginia, 
Kentucky,  North  and  South  Carolina.  If  the  view  does  in  truth  extend  to  Virginia, 
then  it  reaches  to  a  point  fully  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  distant.  To  your  left 
the  picture  gains  a  delicious  charm  in  the  windings  of  the  Tennessee,  which  makes  a 
sharp  curve  directly  at  the  base  of  the  mountain,  and  then  sweeps  away,  soon  disap- 
pearing among  its  hills,  but  at  intervals  reappearing,  glancing  white  and  silvery  in  the 
distance,  like  great  mirrors  let  in  to  the  landscape. 

Lookout  Mountain  presents  an  abrupt  precipice  to  the  plain  it  overlooks.  Its  cliffs 
are,  for  half-way  down  the  mountain,  splendid  palisades.  The  mountain-top  is  almost 
a  plateau,  and  one  may  wander  at  his  ease  for  hours  along  the  rugged,  broken,  seamed, 
tree-crowned  cliffs,  surveying  the  superb  panorama  stretched  out  before  him  in  all  its 
different  aspects.  The  favorite  post  of  view  is  called  the  "  Point,"  a  plateau  on  a 
projecting  angle  of  the  cliff,  being  almost  directly  above  the  Tennessee,  and  command- 
ing to  the  right  and  left  a  breadth  of  view  which  no  other  situation  enjoys.  Beneath 
the  cliff,  the  rock-strewed  slope  that  stretches  to  the  valley  was  once  heavily  wooded, 
but  during  the  war  the  Confederates  denuded  it  of  its  trees,  in  order  that  the  ap- 
proaches to  their  encampment  might  be  watched.  It  was  under  cover  of  a  dense 
mist  that  Hooker's  men  on  the  day  of  the  famous  battle  skirted  this  open  space  and 
reached  the  cover  of  the  rocks  beyond,  which  they  were  to  scale.  The  "  battle  above 
the  clouds  "  is  picturesque  and  poetical  in  the  vivid  descriptions  of  our  historians,  but 
the  survey  of  the  ground  from  the  grand  escarpments  of  the  mountain  thrills  one 
with  admiration.  It  is  not  surprising  that  Bragg  believed  himself  secure  in  his  rocky 
eyrie,  and  the  wonder  must  always  remain  that  these  towering  palisades  did  not  prove 
an  impregnable  barrier  to  the  approach  of  his  enemy. 

On  the  summit  of  Lookout  Mountain  the  northwest  corner  of  Georgia  and  the 
northeast  extremity  of  Alabama  meet  on  the  southern  boundary  of  Tennessee.  The 
mountain  lifts  abruptly  from  the  valley  to  a  height  of  fifteen  hundred  feet.  It  is 
the  summit  overhanging  the  plain  of  Chattanooga  that  is  usually  connected  in  the 
popular  imagination  with  the  title  of  Lookout,  but  the  mountain  really  extends  for 
fifty  miles  in  a  southwesterly  direction  into  Alabama.  The  surface  of  the  mountain 
is  well  wooded,  it  has  numerous  springs,  and  is  susceptible  of  cultivation.  In  time, 
no  doubt,  extensive  farms  will  occupy  the  space  now  filled  by  the  wilderness.  There 
is  a  small  settlement  on  the  crest  of  the  mountain,  consisting  of  two  summer  hotels, 


392  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

several  cottages  and  cabins,  and  a  college.  It  is  a  grand  place  for  study,  and  the 
young  people  of  this  sky-aspiring  academy  have  certainly  superb  stimulants  in  the 
exhilarating  air  and  glorious  scenes  of  their  mountain  alma  mater. 

There  are  several  inns,  or  hotels,  as  they  more  pretentiously  call  themselves,  on  or 
near  the  summit  of  the  mountain.  These  in  the  summer  season  are  thronged  with 
visitors,  either  permanent  or  transient,  who  come  up  for  a  day's  search  of  the  pictur- 
esque from  Chattanooga.  The  majority,  however,  only  stay  on  Lookout  Mountain 
for  an  hour  or  two,  and  consequently  miss  some  of  the  many  attractions  of  the  visit. 
Among  the  striking  features  may  be  mentioned  a  lake  and  cascade  of  uncommon 
beauty,  about  six  miles  away  from  the  Point,  and  a  singular  grouping  of  rocks  known 
by  the  name  of  Rock  City.  Here  we  see  great  rocks  of  the  most  fantastic  shapes, 
arranged  in  avenues  like  the  streets  of  a  city  ;  and,  indeed,  names  have  been  given  to 
some  of  the  thoroughfares  in  this  city  of  the  Gnomes,  where  you  may  travel  between 
Imge  masses  of  the  quaintest  architecture.  Sometimes  these  rock-buildings  are  nearly 
square,  and  look  like  the  fronts  of  imposing  city  mansions,  and  then  again  they  show 
the  greatest  caprice  and  license.  Some  overhang  their  bases  in  ponderous  balconies, 
others  stand  balanced  on  apparently  frail  pivots  of  rock,  and  seem  to  reverse  all  the 
laws  of  gravitation.  So  odd  and  strange  are  the  effects  made  by  this  mimic  city  on 
the  fancy,  that  one  would  not  be  surprised  to  see  this  silent,  shadowy,  deserted  place 
burst  at  once  into  all  the  forms  of  some  strange  life,  like  the  cities  of  the  fairy 
legends  that  lie  under  a  magician's  spell: 

Lookout  Mountain  is  generally  remarkable  for  its  oddly-shaped  rocks.  Near  the 
Point  are  two  eccentric  examples.  The  Devil's  Pulpit  consists  of  large  slabs  of  rock 
piled  on  one  another  in  strange  confusion,  and  apparently  ready  to  topple  over.  An- 
other is  called  Saddle  Rock,  from  its  fancied  resemblance.  It  is  supposed  that  these 
queer  rock-forms,  jutting  so  far  above  the  palisades  below,  are  remains  of  a  higher 
wall  of  cliff  which  has  been  worn  away  during  the  passage  of  countless  centuries. 

One  of  the  most  important  elements  in  the  view  from  Lookout  Mountain  is  the 
curving  Tennessee,  whose  swift  current  passes  in  devious  windings  through  a  long 
stretch  of  mountainous  country.  The  Tennessee  is  formed  by  the  union  of  the 
Clinch  and  the  Holston  Rivers  at  Kingston,  and  together  with  its  affluents  reaches 
a  length  of  eleven  hundred  miles.  Steamers  navigate  different  portions  of  the  river, 
but  there  are  difficulties  of  navigation  which  prevent  their  passage  of  the  whole  con- 
secutive length  of  the  stream. 

The  mountainous  regions  of  Georgia,  though  not  on  the  whole  nearly  so  grand 
or  picturesque  even  as  those  of  North  Carolina  and  Tennessee,  have  their  own  charm, 
and  amply  repay  the  visit  of  the  tourist.  The  Owassa  River,  in  Northwestern  Georgia, 
is  a  tributary  of  the  Tennessee,  and  is  a  clear,  rapid,  and  beautiful  stream.  It  is 
quite  circuitous  in  its  course,  and  the  valley  through  which  it  runs  is  fertile,  partially 
cultivated,  and  hemmed  in  with  mountains  that  roll  away  to  the  sky,  very  much  like 
some  of  the  mountains  of  Vermont.  The  accompanying  view  is  perhaps  as  character- 
istic as  any  that  could  be  selected,  and  the  spirit  of  peace  which  rests  upon  it  can 


THE  MOUNTAINS   OF  THE  SOUTH. 


393 


not  be  witnessed  without  a  sensation 
of  comfort.  Many  of  the  people  live 
in  log-cabins,  and  are  moral  and  intel- 
ligent, but  apparently  destitute  of  all 
enterprise.  What  this  valley,  and  many 
others  of  equal  fertility  and  beauty  to 
be  found  among  the  highlands  of  Geor- 
gia and  North  Carolina,  mostly  need,  to 
make  them  all  that  heart  can  desire,  are 
the  industrial  and  educational  elements 
of  New  England.  The  soils  are  exceed- 
ingly rich,  and  the  climate  perfection. 

It    is    but    seldom     that    a    foot    of    snow  View  from  Lookout  Mountain. 

covers  the  earth  in  the  severest  winters ; 

and,  though   the  days  of  midsummer  are  very  warm,  they  are  seldom  sultry,  and  the 

nights  are  sufficiently  cool  to  make  a  blanket  necessary.     Fevers  and  other  diseases 


394 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


peculiar  to  the  sea-slope  of  the  Alleghanies  are  hardly  known  among  the  inhabitants, 
and  hitherto  the  majority  of  people  have  died  of  old  age.  Fruits  of  all  kinds  are 
abundant,  and  the  apple  and  peach  arrive  at  great  perfection  ;  and  out  of  the  latter 
they  manufacture  very  good  and  palatable  brandy.  The  surrounding  mountains  are 
covered  with  luxuriant  grass,  even  to  their  summits ;  for  in  the  forests  there  is  a 
scarcity  of  undergrowth  (as  is  the  case  in  our  Northern  forests),  so  that  the  whole 
country  is  a  pasture-land,  capable  of  feeding  a  hundred-fold  more  cattle  than  have 


-  • 


View  on  the  Oivawu. 


hitherto  been  raised  in  the  country.  Connected  with  the  river  Owassa,  there  is  a 
geological  fact  worth  mentioning.  Running  directly  across  a  little  hamlet,  which 
stands  at  the  mouth  of  the  river,  is  a  belt  of  richly  variegated  marble,  which  belt 
crosses  the  Owassa.  Just  above  this  rich  and  solid  causeway,  or  dam,  the  river,  for 
about  two  hundred  feet,  is  said  to  be  over  one  hundred  feet  deep,  and  at  one  point, 
according  to  the  old  story,  it  is  bottomless.  When  the  people  there  begin  to  discuss 
the  subject,  they  universally  express  the  opinion  that  there  is  a  subterranean  passage 
between  the  deep  hole  in  the  Owassa  and  the  river  Notely,  which  is  two  miles  dis- 


THE  MOUNTAINS   OF  THE  SOUTH.  395 

tant ;  and  the  testimony  adduced  in  proof  of  this  theory  is,  that  a  log  which  had 
been  cut  and  marked  on  the  Notely  was  subsequently  found  floating  in  the  Owassa. 

But  nowhere  in  Georgia  can  there  be  seen  such  a  novelty  of  mountain-scenery  as 
Tallulah  Chasm,  in  the  northeastern  part  of  the  State.  This  Cherokee  name  means 
the  terrible,  and  was  originally  applied  to  the  river  on  account  of  its  magnificent 
falls.  A  tributary  of  the  Savannah,  and  rising  in  the  Alleghanies,  it  runs  through  a 
mountain-land,  and  is  narrow,  deep,  clear,  cold,  and  subject  to  every  variety  of  mood. 
During  the  first  half  of  its  career  it  winds  among  the  hills  in  uneasy  joy,  and  then, 
for  several  miles,  it  wears  a  placid  appearance,  and  you  scarcely  hear  the  murmur  of 
its  waters.  Soon  tiring  of  this  peaceful  course,  however,  it  narrows  itself  for  an 
approaching  contest,  and  runs  through  a  chasm  whose  walls,  about  two  miles  in  length, 
are  for  the  most  part  perpendicular.  After  making  five  distinct  leaps,  as  the  chasm 
deepens,  it  settles  into  a  turbulent  and  angry  mood,  and  so  continues  until  it  leaves 
the  gorge  and  regains  its  wonted  character.  The  accompanying  sketch  gives  us  a  view 
of  the  chasm  at  its  lowest  extremity.  The  total  fall  of  water,  within  the  two  miles 
mentioned,  has  been  estimated  at  four  hundred  feet,  and  the  several  falls  have  been 
named  Lodore,  Tempesta,  Oceana,  Horicon,  and  the  Serpentine.  What  they  have  done, 
that  they  should  have  been  so  wretchedly  christened,  has  always  been  a  mystery.  At 
this  point  the  stream  is  exceedingly  winding,  and  the  granite  cliffs  on  either  side  vary 
in  height  from  six  hundred  to  nine  hundred  feet,  while  the  mountains  which  back  the 
cliffs  reach  an  elevation  of  fifteen  hundred  feet.  Many  of  the  pools  are  very  large 
and  deep,  and  the  walls  and  rocks  are  everywhere  covered  with  the  most  luxuriant 
mosses.  The  vegetation  of  the  whole  chasm  is  in  truth  particularly  rich  and  varied  ; 
for  you  may  find  here  not  only  the  pine,  but  specimens  of  every  variety  of  the  more 
tender  trees,  together  with  lichens,  and  vines,  and  flowers,  which  would  keep  a  botanist 
employed  for  half  a  century.  Only  four  paths  have  been  discovered  leading  to  the 
margin  of  the  water,  and  to  make  either  one  of  these  descents  requires  much  of  the 
nerve  and  courage  of  the  samphire-gatherer.  Through  this  immense  gorge  a  strong 
wind  is  ever  blowing,  and  the  sunlight  never  falls  upon  the  cataracts  without  forming 
beautiful  rainbows,  which  contrast  strangely  with  the  surrounding  gloom  and  horror ; 
and  the  roar  of  the  water-falls,  perpetually  ascending  to  the  sky,  comes  to  the  beholder 
with  a  voice  that  bids  him  to  wonder  and  admire. 

With  regard  to  the  more  striking  features  of  this  chasm,  next  to  its  falls,  may  be 
mentioned  the  Devil's  Pulpit,  the  Devil's  Dwelling,  the  Eagle's  Nest,  the  Deer-leap, 
Hawthorne's  Pool,  and  Hank's  Sliding-place,  whose  several  names  convey  an  idea  of 
their  characteristics  or  associations.  After  emerging  from  its  magnificent  chasm,  the 
Tallulah  River  runs  quietly  through  a  beautiful  vale,  which  is  so  completely  hemmed 
in  with  hills  as  to  be  quite  inaccessible  to  a  vehicle  of  any  description.  In  this  nar- 
row valley  stands  a  solitary  cabin,  which,  though  now  deserted  and  forlorn,  was  once 
the  happy  home  of  Adam  Vandever,  the  Hunter  of  Tallulah.  He  was  a  small,  weazen- 
faced  man,  and  wore  a  white  beard.  He  was  born  in  South  Carolina,  hunted  for 
many  years  in  Kentucky,  and  spent  the  last  thirty  years  of  his  life  in  the  wilds  of 


396 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


'-     '*»_ 
*»/ 


Tallulah  Chasm,  tfeorgia. 


THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  THE  SOUTH.  397 

Georgia.  By  way  of  a  frolic  he  took  part  in  the  Creek  War,  and  is  said  to  have 
killed  more  Indians  with  his  single  rifle  than  any  other  white  man  in  the  army.  He 
was  married  three  times,  and  delighted  to  talk  about  his  thirty-two  or  three  children. 
During  the  summer  he  cultivated  his  land,  and  his  live-stock  consisted  generally  of 
one  mule,  half  a  dozen  goats,  and  a  number  of  dogs.  His  favorite  game  was  the  deer, 
of  which  he  claimed  to  have  killed  four  thousand,  but  he  was  quite  ready  always  to 
kill  whatever  might  cross  his  path.  In  all  his  winter  hunts,  when  absent  for  weeks 
at  a  time,  his  mule,  which  he  honored  with  the  name  of  The  Devil  and  Tom  Walker, 
was  his  sole  companion,  and  he  is  said  to  have  brought  home,  as  the  result  of  a  single 
winter  campaign,  not  less  than  six  hundred  peltries  and  skins,  consisting  of  those  of 
the  bear,  the  black  and  gray  wolf,  the  panther,  the  wild-cat,  the  fox,  and  the  'coon. 
In  politics,  which  he  despised,  he  went  for  men  and  not  principles,  and,  from  the  time 
that  he  fought  under  General  Jackson  until  his  death,  he  continued  to  vote  for  him 
for  President  at  every  subsequent  election.  That  the  hunting-stories  of  such  a  man 
were  full  of  interest  can  be  readily  imagined. 

That  a  place  like  Tallulah  should  have  an  Indian  legend  associated  with  it  was  to 
be  expected.  Many  generations  ago,  according  to  the  Cherokees,  it  so  happened  that 
several  famous  hunters,  who  had  wandered  from  the  West  toward  the  Savannah  River, 
never  returned.  The  curiosity  and  fears  of  the  nation  were  excited,  and  they  sent  a 
delegation  of  medicine-men  to  go  and  find  the  lost  hunters.  They  visited  the  East, 
and  when  they  returned  they  reported  that  they  had  discovered  a  dreadful  chasm  in 
a  strange  part  of  the  country.  They  said  it  was  a  very  wild  place,  and  inhabited  by 
a  race  of  little  people,  who  dwelt  among  the  rocks  and  under  the  water-falls ;  that 
they  were  the  enemies  of  the  Cherokee  nation  ;  and  they  knew  that  these  little  peo- 
ple had  decoyed  the  missing  hunters  to  death  in  the  waters  of  Tallulah.  In  view 
of  this  legend,  it  is  worthy  of  remark  that  the  Cherokees,  before  departing  for  the 
far  West,  always  avoided  the  Falls  of  Tallulah,  and  were  never  found  hunting  or 
fishing  in  their  vicinity. 


Mouth  of  St.  John's  River,  Florida. 


THE    LAND    OF   ORANGE-GROVES. 


The  American  Italy — Situation  and  diraate — Jacksonville — A  trip  up  the  St.  John's  and  the  Ocklawaha — St. 
Augustine :  its  history  and  traditions — The  St.  Augustine  of  to-day — The  gardens  and  fruits  of  Florida — The 
banana,  and  how  it  grows — The  orange-culture — Florida  vegetation — The  "cracker"  class — The  principal  points 
of  interest  in  the  State — Key  West — Indian  River — Hunting  in  Florida — Lake  Okechobee — The  Everglades. 

BOTH  in  its  traditions  and  natural  features  Florida  is  one  of  the  most  interesting 
States  in  the  Union.  Though  the  first  settled  and  blessed  with  the  most  genial  of 
climates,  yet  the  greater  part  of  the  State  is  to-day  a  wilderness,  though  a  wilderness 
marked  by  the  most  picturesque  and  unique  features.  The  early  history  was  one  long 
romance  of  battle  and  massacre,  and  the  later  records  are  not  less  interesting.  The 
Spaniards,  who  were  the  earliest  white  visitors,  were  much  impressed  with  its  scenery 
and  the  weirdness  of  its  wilds,  and  as  they  arrived  on  Easter-Sunday,  which  they 
called  "  Pascua  Florida,"  they  commemorated  the  day  by  giving  the  new  territory 
the  name  of  the  sacred  festival. 

Time  was  when  Florida  was  an  immense  sand-bar  stretching  into  the  Gulf  of 
Mexico,  and  probably  entirely  barren.  But  under  the  influence  of  the  delicious  semi- 
tropical  climate,  which  makes  Florida  one  of  the  paradises  of  the  world,  the  seeds, 
which  were  freely  borne  to  it  on  the  winds  and  waves  and  by  the  myriads  of  birds 
that  find  a  resting-place  here,  at  last  clothed  it  with  luxuriant  vegetation  interspersed 
with  tracts  of  barren  sand.  The  absurdity  of  the  prevalent  notion  that  the  land- 
scapes of  tropical  and  semi-tropical  scenery  are  superior  in  richness  of  vegetable 
growth  to  those  of  temperate  climes  is  nowhere  better  illustrated  than  in  Florida. 
In  hot  regions  there  is  only  an  abundant  growth  of  plants  where  there  is  plenty  of 
moisture.  It  is  only  in  the  north  that  the  whole  face  of  the  country  glows  with 
greenery.  In  the  tropics  there  is  a  profuse  production  of  flowers  and  plants  only  in 


THE  LAND   OF  ORANGE-GROVES.  399 

the  swamps  and  forests,  where  the  heat  and  blaze  of  the  sun  are  somewhat  modified. 
In  such  recesses  we  have  in  Florida  the  wildest  effects.  Flowers,  vines,  and  foliage, 
strange  plants  and  gigantic  trees  literally  weighted  down  with  gorgeous  parasites,  de- 
light the  eye,  and  the  air  is  heavy  with  rich  odors.  But  these  are  in  hidden  places, 
while  the  open  landscape  is  for  the  most  part  arid  and  sandy. 

Our  American  Italy,  as  Florida  may  justly  be  called,  has  not  a  mountain  within 
its  boundaries.  Extending  from  twenty-five  degrees  to  thirty-one  degrees  north  lati- 
tude, its  area  is  sixty  thousand  miles.  Nearly  four  hundred  miles  in  length,  it  lies 
nearly  in  the  same  parallels  with  Northern  Mexico,  the  Desert  of  Sahara,  Central 
Arabia,  Southern  China,  and  Northern  Hindostan.  But  its  heats  are  so  tempered  by 
the  Gulf  Stream  on  the  one  side  and  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  on  the  other,  that  the  air  is 
balmy  and  delightful.  Over  the  level  breadth,  one  hundred  and  thirty  miles  between 
the  two  waters,  odorous  and  health-giving  ocean-winds  blow  continually,  and  under 
their  influence  and  that  of  the  genial  sun  all  moist  places  are  clad  in  a  sub-tropical 
vegetation.  Florida  is  the  home  of  the  palmetto  and  cabbage-palm,  the  live-oak  and 
the  cypress,  the  mistletoe  and  Spanish  moss,  the  mangrove  and  the  stately  magnolia, 
the  orange,  the  pineapple,  the  banana,  the  myrtle,  the  jasmine,  the  cork-tree,  the 
grape,  and  the  cocoa-nut.  In  different  portions  of  the  State,  according  to  the  latitude, 
the  finest  fruits  of  the  temperate  and  tropical  zones  flourish  luxuriantly.  Winter  and 
summer  the  climate  is  delicious,  and  hitherward  flock  invalids  from  all  portions  of 
the  United  States,  and  to  some  extent  from  Europe,  to  breathe  its  soft  and  healing 
air 

We  will  invite  the  reader  to  accompany  us  in  a  hasty  trip  to  visit  those  scenes  and 
features  of  Florida  which  possess  the  most  interest,  though  in  doing  so  we  shall  be 
obliged  to  pass  over  places  and  characteristics  which  urge  a  strong  claim  on  our  at- 
tention. Let  us  begin  with  the  St.  John's  River,  which  for  many  miles  is  more  like  a 
broad  estuary  than  a  mere  river.  This  great  river,  which  rises  in  the  Everglades  of 
Southern  Florida,  flows  north  for  a  distance  of  four  hundred  miles,  and  empties  into  the 
ocean.  Jacksonville,  the  largest  city  of  Florida,  is  situated  about  twenty-five  miles 
above  the  mouth  of  the  river,  with  a  population  of  some  fifteen  thousand  inhabit- 
ants. From  December  till  April  the  population  is  doubled  on  account  of  the  influx 
of  those  who  come  in  search  of  a  genial  winter  climate.  The  river  at  this  point 
makes  a  crescent  bend  like  that  of  the  Mississippi  at  New  Orleans.  Here  the  river  is 
two  miles  broad,  though  it  expands  to  eight  miles  farther  up  the  stream.  The  bar 
at  the  mouth  of  the  river  is  nearly  always  practicable  for  large  ocean-steamers,  and 
they  run  with  ease  to  Palatka,  sixty  miles  above  Jacksonville.  The  journey  from  the 
river's  mouth  is  pleasant  in  the  extreme — past  Baton  Island,  the  home  of  the  river 
pilots  and  the  site  of  two  light-houses  ;  past  the  mounds  of  oyster-shells  surmounted 
with  tangled  shrubbery  ;  past  the  white  domes  which  glitter  under  the  sun  and  look 
weird  and  ghastly  under  the  moon  ;  and  past  the  spot  where  once  stood  old  Fort 
Caroline,  the  scene  of  the  massacre  by  the  Spaniard  Menendez  of  the  French  Hugue- 
nots. 


400  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

The  city  of  Jacksonville  is  well  laid  out,  more  after  the  Northern  than  the  South- 
ern plan,  and  has  all  the  comforts,  conveniences,  and  luxuries  of  a  city  of  much 
greater  size.  Mr.  Edward  King,  in  "  The  Great  South,"  gives  us  the  following  vivid 
and  pleasant  picture  of  the  city  : 

"Imagine  yourself  transferred  from  the  trying  climate  of  the  North  or  Northwest 
into  the  gentle  atmosphere  of  the  Floridian  Peninsula,  seated  just  at  sunset  in  an 
arm-chair,  on  one  of  the  verandas  which  overlook  the  pretty  square  in  Jacksonville. 
Your  face  is  fanned  by  the  warm  December  breeze,  and  the  chippering  of  the  birds 
mingles  with  the  music  which  the  negro  band  is  playing  in  yonder  portico.  The 
lazy,  ne'er-do-well  negro  boys,  playing  in  the  sand  so  abundant  in  all  the  roads,  have 
the  unconscious  pose  and  careless  grace  of  Neapolitan  beggars.  Here  and  there 
among  the  dusky  race  is  a  face  beautiful  as  was  ever  that  of  olive-brown  maid  in 
Messina.  This  is  the  South,  slumberous,  voluptuous,  round,  and  graceful.  Here  beauty 
peeps  from  every  door-yard.  Mere  existence  is  pleasure ;  exertion  is  a  bore.  Through 
orange-trees  and  grand  oaks  thickly  bordering  the  broad  avenues  gleams  the  wide 
current  of  the  St.  John's  River.  Parallel  with  it  runs  Bay  Street,  Northern  in  ap- 
pearance, with  brick  blocks  on  either  side,  with  crowds  of  smartly  dressed  tourists 
hurrying  through  it,  with  a  huge  '  National  Hotel,'  with  banks,  with  elegant  shops. 
Fine  shell  roads  run  out  beyond  the  town  limits  in  either  direction.  Riding  toward 
the  river's  mouth,  which  is  twenty-five  miles  below  the  town,  one  comes  to  marshes 
and  broad  expanses  of  luscious  green  thicket." 

The  St.  John's  is  as  capricious  as  a  coquette,  a  fact  illustrated  in  the  Indian  name 
Il-la-ka,  that  is,  "It  has  its  own  way."  The  flat,  low  banks  are  fringed  with  a  wealth 
of  exquisite  foliage,  and  one  passes  for  hundreds  of  miles  through  a  forest  of  cy- 
presses, swathed  in  moss  and  mistletoe  ;  of  graceful  palms  and  palmettoes  lifting  their 
plumes  high  above  their  brethren  ;  of  white  and  black  ash,  magnolia,  oak,  poplar, 
and  plane  trees ;  and  where  there  are  hammocks  we  see  groves  of  the  olive,  the  cot- 
ton-tree, the  juniper,  the  red  cedar,  the  sweet-gum,  and  the  live-oak  shooting  up 
their  splendid  stems.  Among  these  and  intertwined  with  them  are  a  countless  variety 
of  flowering  shrubs  and  vines.  Close  to  the  shore  we  see  through  the  tangled  thick- 
ets the  gleaming  water,  out  of  which  rise  innumerable  cypress-knees,  looking  exactly 
like  so  many  champagne-bottles  set  in  the  current  to  cool.  Herons  and  cranes  watch 
saucily  from  the  river-bank,  and  monster  turtles  and  still  more  monstrous  alligators 
glide  slowly  along,  only  to  duck  their  heads  at  the  flash  of  the  gun  or  pistol.  On 
the  way  up  the  river  we  pass  noted  health  resorts  such  as  Mandarin,  Hebomia,  Mag- 
nolia, and  Picolata,  which  have  their  quota  of  invalids.  Near  Magnolia  is  Green 
Cove  Springs,  famous  for  curing  rheumatism  and  a  hundred  other  complaints.  It  is 
composed  of  a  series  of  warm  sulphur-springs,  in  some  cases  twenty-five  feet  deep, 
the  water  being  pale  blue  and  transparent.  It  was,  perhaps,  some  rumor  of  the  virtue 
of  these  springs  which  gave  Ponce  de  Leon  his  belief  in  the  Fountain  of  Youth. 

Palatka,  the  largest  town  on  the  river  above  Jacksonville,  which  is  the  point  of 
departure  for  the  upper  St.  John's  and  the  Ocklawaha  Rivers,  is  noted  for  the  bland- 


THE  LAND   OF  ORANGE-GROVES.  401 

ness  of  its  climate,  and  is  a  resort  for  consumptives,  only  less  popular  than  Jackson- 
ville and  St.  Augustine.  Here  the  vegetation  begins  to  be  more  characteristically 
tropical,  and  the  river  narrows  to  a  moderate-sized  stream,  which  characteristic  it  re- 


Nigkt  Scene  on  the  OMuwaka  River. 

tains  except  where  it  widens  into  Grand   Lake  George,  Dexter  Lake,  and   Lake  Mon- 
roe at  Enterprise. 

Twenty-five  miles  above  Palatka  the  Ocklawaha  River  empties  into  the  St.  John's 
after  flowing  nearly  three  hundred  miles.  The  channel  is  simply  a  naligable  passage 
through  a  succession  of  small  lakes  and  cypress-swamps.  Small  steamers  ai-e  able  to 

26 


402  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

ascend  it  for  two  hundred  miles.  Let  us  take  passage  on  one  of  these  queer  little 
craft,  for  an  excursion  up  the  Ocklawaha  is  one  of  the  most  unique  and  interesting 
experiences  possible  to  the  Florida  tourist.  Our  little  steamboat,  in  simple  build  and 
rude  machinery,  might  have  been  the  first  model  made  by  Fulton.  The  general 
outline  is  that  of  an  ill-shaped  omnibus,  with  the  propelling  wheel  let  into  its  rear. 
The  smoke-pipe,  engine,  pilot-house,  and  other  appurtenances  of  the  gearing  of  boats, 
are  all  housed,  for  the  excellent  reason  of  protecting  them  from  being  torn  away 
by  the  overhanging  limbs  or  protruding  stumps,  everywhere  to  be  met  with  in  the 
difficulties  of  Florida  swamp  navigation. 

Starting  in  the  wee  small  hours,  a  short  sail  along  the  St.  John's  finds  us  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Ocklawaha  about  sunrise,  the  river  looking  scarcely  wide  enough  to 
admit  a  skiff,  much  less  a  steamboat.  As  the  light  increases,  we  find  our  boat  pass- 
ing through  a  cypress-swamp,  the  only  marks  of  the  channel  being  the  blazed  trees. 
Though  the  water  is  deep  enough,  it  is  a  queer  kind  of  navigation,  for  the  boat  goes 
along  bumping  against  cypress-butts,  suggesting  in  case  of  disaster  a  very  unromantic 
fate  through  the  agency  of  mosquitoes,  buzzards,  moccasin-snakes,  and  alligators. 

Novel  pictures  present  themselves  at  every  turn.  Now  we  reach  a  spot  a  little 
higher  than  the  water-level,  covered  with  a  dense  growth  of  lofty  palmettoes.  They 
shoot  up  tall  and  slender,  bearing  a  mass  of  innumerable  parasites.  In  some  cases 
the  eye  is  delighted  by  patches,  half  a  mile  in  length,  of  the  convolvulus  carried  on 
the  palmetto-grove  as  on  a  lattice,  the  whole  a  mass  of  lovely  blossoms.  A  sharp 
turn  in  the  sluggish  channel  reveals  another  scene.  The  wreck  of  a  huge  dead 
cypress  is  discovered,  its  gaunt  limbs  covered  with  buzzards,  waiting  for  the  decom- 
position of  an  alligator,  which  some  sportsman  has  shot  and  bequeathed  as  a  banquet 
to  these  useful  but  loathsome  birds,  the  scavengers  of  tropical  regions.  Sometimes 
we  enter  what  seems  to  be  a  cavern,  so  thickly  are  the  tree-tops  and  the  vines  inter- 
laced into  a  solid  roof.  The  Florida  swamps  are  as  rich  in  birds  as  in  vegetation, 
and  Audubon  found  here  one  of  his  finest  fields  as  a  hunter-naturalist.  The  water- 
turkey  or  snake-bird  is  seen  everywhere  sitting  on  some  projecting  limb,  the  body 
concealed  as  much  as  possible  from  view,  and  the  long  head  and  neck  projected  in 
search  of  prey.  You  fire  at  the  queer  bird,  and  it  falls  apparently  helpless  into  the 
water.  On  rowing  to  the  spot  your  prey  has  disappeared,  but  you  suddenly  see  the 
long,  snaky  head  just  protruding  above  the  surface  a  hundred  yards  away.  The 
white  crane  is  also  a  conspicuous  bird  as  it  stands  out  in  deep  relief  against  the 
black  shadows  of  the  cypress,  and  proudly  stalks  about,  studying  the  Styx-like  waters 
for  prey.  Its  special  tidbit  is  the  young  of  the  innumerable  water-snakes  which 
abound,  and  it  pays  hungry  attention  to  the  slimy,  disgusting  young  moccasins,  which 
have  a  taste  for  sunning  themselves,  everywhere  the  light  shines  through  the  tangled 
arches  of  the  swamp. 

But  the  most  interesting  object  in  these  out-of-the-way  retreats  is  the  alligator, 
who  finds  a  paradise  in  the  Florida  swamps.  Here  he  has  no  occasion,  as  in  Louisi- 
ana, to  retire  into  the  mud  to  escape  the  winter  cold,  but  basks  in  the  warmth  of 


THE  LAND   OF  ORANGE-GROVES. 


403 


A  Florida  Swamp. 


404 


OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 


the  upper  world  the  year  round.  It  is  comical  and  provoking  to  see  one  of  these 
huge  creatures,  when  indisposed  to  get  out  of  the  way,  turn  up  his  piggish  eyes  with 
an  indifferent  look,  as  a  rifle-ball  strikes  his  mailed  sides,  and  hardly  give  a  grunt  in 
recognition  of  the  salute.  Like  Achilles,  however,  he  has  one  vulnerable  spot,  which 
is  just  in  front  of  the  place  where  the  huge  head  works  on  the  spinal  column,  and, 
knowing  this,  an  experienced  hunter  rarely  lets  one  of  these  reptiles  escape  him. 

In  our  devious  course  through  the  swamp,  perhaps  we  come  on  a  cigar-box  nailed 
to  a  tree,  bearing  the  magic  letters  U.  S.  M.  This  is  the  primitive  post-office  of  the 
region,  where  the  "  swampers "  leave  bheir  soiled  notes  and  crooked  writing  to  be 
conveyed  to  their  addresses  by  the  first  coiner.  The  little  steamer  goes  bumping  from 
stump  to  stump,  and  continually  stirs  up  the  inhabitants  of  the  watery  wilderness, 


A  Scene  on  the  OcJdawaha  River. 

frightening  the  countless  crows,  and  scattering  the  snakes  and  wood-ducks  on  the 
surface  of  the  water.  Innumerable  paroquets  chattering  in  the  feathery  crowns  of 
palmetto-trees  scream  out  their  indignation,  and  flash  their  green  and  golden  plumage 
wherever  the  sun  shines  through  an  open  space. 

By-and-by  it  begins  to  get  dark,  and  it  becomes  a  mystery  to  know  how  the  pilot 
is  going  to  steer  his  charge  through  the  pitch-black  mystery  of  the  swamp.  While 
thus  speculating,  there  flashes  across  the  landscape  a  bright,  clear  light.  From  the 
most  intense  blackness  we  have  a  fierce,  lurid  glare,  presenting  the  most  picturesque 
groups  of  overhanging  palmettoes,  draped  with  parasites  and  vines  of  all  descriptions  ; 
prominent  among  the  latter  is  the  scarlet  trumpet-creeper,  overburdened  with  wreaths 
of  blossoms,  and  intertwined  again  with  chaplets  of  purple  and  white  convolvulus, 


THE  LAND   OF  ORANGE-GROVES.  405 

the  most  minute  details  of  the  objects  near  being  brought  out  in  a  sharp  red  light 
against  the  deep  tone  of  the  forest's  depths.  But  no  fancy  can  conceive  the  grotesque 
and  weird  forms  which  constantly  force  themselves  on  your  notice  as  the  light  par- 
tially illuminates  the  limbs  of  wrecked  or  half-destroyed  trees,  which,  covered  with 
moss,  or  wrapped  in  decayed  vegetation  as  a  winding-sheet,  seem  huge  unburied  mon- 
sters, which,  though  dead,  still  throw  about  their  urms  in  agony,  and  gaze  through 
unmeaning  eyes  upon  the  intrusions  of  active,  living  men. 

Another  run  of  a  half-mile  brings  us  into  the  cypress  again,  the  fire-light  giving 
new  ideas  of  the  picturesque.  The  tall  shafts,  more  than  ever  shrouded  in  the  hang- 
ing moss,  look  as  if  they  had  been  draped  in  sad  habiliments,  while  the  wind  sighs 
through  the  limbs ;  and  when  the  sonorous  sounds  of  the  alligators  are  heard,  groan- 
ing and  complaining,  the  sad,  dismal  picture  of  desolation  is  complete. 

A  sharp  contact  with  a  palmetto-knee  throws  around  the  head  of  our  nondescript 
steamer,  and  we  enter  what  appears  to  be  an  endless  colonnade  of  beautifully  pro- 
portioned shafts,  running  upward  a  hundred  feet,  roofed  by  hanging  ornaments,  sug- 
gesting the  most  striking  effect  of  Gothic  architecture.  The  delusion  is  increased  by 
the  waving  streamers  of  the  Spanish  moss,  which  here  and  there,  in  great  festoons  of 
fifty  feet  in  length,  hang  down  like  tattered  but  gigantic  banners,  worm-eaten  and 
moldy,  sad  evidences  of  the  hopes  and  passions  of  the  distant  past.  So  impressive 
are  these  wonderful  effects  of  a  brilliant  light  upon  these  Florida  swamps,  that  we 
almost  forget  to  look  for  the  cause  of  the  artificial  glare,  but,  when  we  do,  we  find 
a  faithful  negro  has  suspended  from  cranes  iron  cages,  which  hold  fat-pine  knots, 
kept  constantly  replenished.  These  blaze  and  crackle,  and  transform  the  dense  dark- 
ness into  the  most  weird  and  novel  views  of  Nature. 

By-and-by  we  arrive  at  the  special  goal  of  our  strange  journey,  the  celebrated 
Silver  Spring.  We  find  our  rude  craft  in  a  basin  possibly  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in 
diameter,  entirely  surrounded  by  gigantic  forest-trees,  which  repeat  themselves  with 
the  most  minute  fidelity  in  the  perfectly  translucent  water.  For  sixty  feet  downward 
we  can  look,  and  at  this  great  depth  see  duplicated  the  scene  of  the  upper  world, 
the  clearness  of  the  water  assisting  rather  than  interfering  with  the  vision.  The  bot- 
tom of  this  basin  is  silver  sand,  studded  with  pale  emeralds,  odd  formations  of  lime- 
crystals — a  bed  of  white  coral  in  forms  and  color  that  remind  us  of  cunningly  wrought 
silver  baskets.  This  we  soon  learn  is  the  wonderful  Silver  Spring  of  which  we  have 
heard  so  much,  which  every  moment  throws  out  its  thousands  of  gallons  of  water 
without  making  a  bubble  on  the  surface. 

Procuring  a  "dug-out,"  and  provided  with  a  gun,  we  proceed  to  inform  ourself 
of  the  mysteries  of  the  spot.  The  transparency  of  the  water  is  ever  a  constant  won- 
der. A  little  pearly-white  shell,  dropped  from  the  hand,  works  its  zigzag  way  down- 
ward, becoming  in  its  descent  a  mere  emerald  tint,  until,  finding  the  bottom,  it 
seems  to  be  a  gem  destined  for  ever  to  glisten  in  its  silver  setting. 

Noticing  the  faintest  possible  movement  on  the  surface  of  the  basin  at  a  certain 
point,  we  conclude  that  that  must  be  over  the  place  where  the  great  body  of  the 


406  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

water  enters  the  spring.  So,  paddling  to  the  spot,  and  wrapping  a  stone,  weighing 
about  eight  ounces,  in  a  piece  of  white  paper,  we  drop  it  into  the  water  at  the  place 
where  the  slightly  perceptible  movement  is  visible.  The  stone  goes  perpendicularly 
down  for  some  twenty-five  feet,  until  it  reaches  a  slight  projection  of  limestone  rock, 
where  it  is  suddenly,  as  if  a  feather  in  weight,  forced  upward  in  a  curving  line  some 
fifteen  feet,  showing  the  tremendous  power  of  the  water  that  rushes  out  from  the 
rock  buried  under  this  bed  of  burning  sand.  Perhaps  the  most  novel  and  startling 
feature  is  when  our  craft  comes  from  the  shade  into  the  sunshine,  for  then,  looking 
over  the  sides  of  the  canoe,  we  recoil  at  the  sensation  of  floating  in  the  air.  For  it 
seems  as  if  we  are,  by  some  miraculous  power,  suspended  seventy  feet  or  more  in 
the  mid-air,  while  down  on  the  sanded  bottom  is  a  sharp,  clear  silhouette  of  man, 
boat,  and  paddle.  A  deep  river  a  hundred  feet  wide  is  created  by  the  water  of  this 
spring,  which  in  the  course  of  seven  miles  forms  a  junction  with  the  Ocklawaha,  and 
then  continues  to  run  side  by  side  for  another  mile,  Avithout  mixing  its  clear,  pellucid 
water  with  the  coffee-stained  flow  of  the  other  stream,  which,  like  most  of  the  rivers 
of  Florida,  is  heavily  charged  with  alluvial  and  vegetable  matter. 

Returning  down  the  Ocklawaha  to  the  St.  John's,  we  are  tempted  to  continue 
our  journey  up  the  river,  which  becomes  narrow,  except  where  it  widens  into  lakes, 
such  as  Lake  George,  a  few  miles  above  the  mouth  of  the  Ocklawahaf  Dexter's  Lake 
and  Lake  Monroe  at  Enterprise.  The  latter-named  town  is  the  head  of  steamboat 
navigation  on  the  river,  and  is  one  point  of  departure  for  the  celebrated  Indian  River 
region,  the  sportsman's  paradise  of  Florida. 

Lake  George  is  a  beautiful  sheet  of  water,  worthy  of  its  namesake  in  Northern  New 
York.  It  is  twelve  miles  wide  and  eighteen  miles  long,  and  the  surface  is  dotted  with 
charming  islands.  Among  them  is  one,  seventeen  hundred  acres  in  extent,  which  con- 
tains one  of  the  largest  orange-groves  in  the  world.  All  along  the  lake  the  eye  is 
delighted  and  the  ear  charmed  with  the  brilliant  plumage  and  the  sweet  songs  of 
Southern  birds.  At  the  southern  end  of  Lake  George  lies  Drayton's  Island,  where 
there  are  some  remarkable  Indian  mounds.  Thence  the  river  passes  into  Dexter  Lake, 
surrounded  by  wild  and  seemingly  limitless  marshes  and  hammocks.  Beyond  this  lake 
the  St.  John's  becomes  a  very  narrow  channel,  whose  banks  are  clothed  with  the  uni- 
versal palm,  the  wild  sugar-cane,  and  the  tall  sedge  of  the  marshy  meadows.  All 
along  this  lake  there  are  fine  shooting  and  fishing,  and  the  invalid  who  comes  pale 
and  racked  with  a  harrowing  cough  is,  after  a  few  weeks,  seen  tramping  about  in 
the  cool  of  the  morning,  gun  and  fishing-rod  in  hand,  a  veritable  Nimrod  and  Izaak 
Walton  combined. 

Although  Enterprise  is  the  end  of  regular  navigation,  the  daring  sportsman  is 
tempted  by  still  another  hundred  miles  of  narrow  river,  deep  lagoons,  gloomy  bayous, 
and  wild,  uninhabited  wilderness.  Here  are  all  sorts  of  game,  from  the  bear  and 
panther  to  wild  turkeys  and  ducks,  and  the  waters  swarm  with  delicious  game-fish. 
During  the  winter  season  .small,  light-draught  steamers  pass  up  through  Lake  Har- 
ney  to  Salt  Lake.  These  lakes,  though  considerable  in  extent,  are  so  shallow  that  no 


THE  LAND    OF  ORANGE-GROVES. 


407 


boat  drawing  more  than  two  feet  of  water  can  navigate  them.      Beyond   Lake  Harney 
the  St.  John's  River  is  lost  in    the  savannas  and  swamps  where  it  has  its  rise. 

Let  us  retrace  our  journey  on  the  St.  John's,  and  return  to  Tocoi.  fifty-seven 
miles  above  Jacksonville,  where  a  curiously  primitive  horse-railroad  carries  the  traveler 
to  St.  Augustine,  fifteen  miles  distant.  Out  through  a  seemingly  interminable  forest 
leads  the  straight  road,  bordered  by  pines  and  palmettoes.  Occasionally,  in  some  open- 
ing, may  be  seen  a  little  sugar-plantation,  or  an  old  mill,  half  buried  in  the  tropical 
vegetation.  The  track  is  built  partly  of  iron  partly  of  wooden  rails,  and  the  journey 
on  the  whole  is  comfortable,  in  spite  of  the  simplicity  of  the  conveyance.  The  con- 
ductor tells  us  that  he  sometimes  comes  within  one  of  running  over  an  alligator  that 


View  on  the  Upper  St.  John's. 

lies  basking  on  the  track,  or  receives  a  salutation  of  growls  from  a  black  bear  as  it 
disappears  in  the  forest.  As  we  approach  the  suburbs  of  the  quaint  old  Spanish  city, 
there  is  a  fetid  odor  of  decay  from  the  black  swamp  and  stagnant  water.  Arriving 
at  the  Sebastian  River — an  arm  of  the  sea,  flowing  in  among  long  reaches  of  salt 
marsh,  clad  in  a  dingy-yellow  grass — the  horse-car  stops ;  we  are  transferred  to  an 
omnibus,  and  we  rattle  rapidly  over  the  streets  to  our  hotel. 

Before  looking  at  the  St.  Augustine  of  to-day,  let  us  enhance  the  fascination  of 
this  oldest  city  of  our  country  by  taking  a  glance  at  its  history,  which  is  as  romantic 
and  extraordinary  as  any  fiction  ever  woven  by  the  fancy. 

The   beautiful    peninsula   of    Florida   has   excited    the    ambition    of    many   nations. 


408  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

First  came  the  Venetian  sailor,  Henry  Cabot,  to  whose  father  Henry  VII  of  England 
accorded  the  right  to  sail  all  seas  under  the  English  flag.  This  hardy  old  mariner, 
blindly  wandering  in  search  for  the  passage  to  the  Indies,  touched  at  Florida  in  1497. 
Early  in  the  next  century  Ponce  de  Leon  came  from  Porto  Rico,  led  by  the  legend 
of  a  magic  fountain  whose  waters  bestowed  eternal  youth,  and  penetrated  far  into  the 
wilds.  The  old  warrior,  who  had  grown  gray  in  war-harness  and  borne  a  gallant  part 
among  the  mail-clad  chivalry  of  Europe,  perished  in  an  ignoble  skirmish  with  the 
savages.  Ponce  de  Leon  christened  the  State,  in  virtue  of  the  fact  that  he  landed  on 
Easter-Sunday,  amid  groves  of  towering  palms  and  a  profusion  of  flowers.  After 
him  came  other  Spaniards  bent  on  proselyting,  crazy  with  the  double  lust  of  gold  and 
winning  human  souls  to  their  religion,  if  need  be,  by  sword,  fire,  and  fagot.  The 
Indians  were  kidnapped  and  enslaved,  but  they  rose  on  the  early  invaders  and  massa- 
cred them  to  a  man.  Narvaez,  with  a  little  army,  marched  gallantly  into  the  swamps 
and  lagoons,  fought  the  savages  successfully,  but  finally  they  were  all  shipwrecked  and 
drowned  while  sailing  along  the  treacherous  coast.  Then  came  the  most  noble  and 
heroic  of  all  these  figures  which  haunt  the  dim  twilight  of  Florida  history,  the  valiant 
Spanish  knight  De  Soto,  who  died  after  discovering  the  Mississippi. 

But  no  permanent  Spanish  settlement  of  Florida  was  attempted  till  the  year  1565, 
more  than  half  a  century  before  the  landing  of  the  Pilgrims  at  Plymouth.  The 
founder  of  St.  Augustine,  the  earliest  built  of  American  cities,  was  Don  Pedro  Me- 
nendez, who  to  the  bravery  of  the  soldier  united  the  cruelty  of  the  religious  zealot. 
,He  was  sent  to  Florida  by  Philip  II,  with  a  force  comprising  thirty-four  vessels  and 
twenty-six  hundred  men,  with  orders  to  colonize  the  country  and  exterminate  a  French 
Huguenot  settlement  which  was  established  at  Fort  Caroline,  near  the  mouth  of  the 
St.  John's.  After  establishing  his  colony,  Menendez  sailed  for  Fort  Caroline,  carried 
the  place  by  storm,  and  slaughtered  the  garrison  to  a  man.  As  an  excuse  for  his  act, 
he  nailed  to  the  flag-staff  the  following  motto:  "Not  because  they  are  Frenchmen, 
but  because  they  are  heretics  and  enemies  of  God."  Subsequent  to  this  atrocious 
act,  another  party  of  Huguenots,  under  Ribault,  was  wrecked  among  the  dunes  of 
Anastasia  Island,  near  Matanzas  Inlet,  and  only  a  few  miles  from  St.  Augustine. 
Menendez  went  to  them  with  soft  words,  disarmed  their  suspicion,  and  again  slew 
every  Frenchman  of  the  party.  It  was  some  time  before  news  of  these  bloody  doings 
got  to  France,  and  even  then,  as  the  French  court  party  was  bitterly  Catholic,  it  was 
left  to  the  private  Huguenot  gentleman  to  avenge  the  outrages  of  the  Spaniards. 
Dominique  de  Gourgues,  with  some  help  from  Admiral  Coligny,  fitted  out  an  expedi- 
tion two  years  after  the  massacre  at  Fort  Caroline,  and  sailed  for  America.  He  at- 
tacked the  Spanish  fort  and  won  a  signal  success.  Every  prisoner  was  hung  by  the 
stern  Huguenot,  "not  because  they  are  Spaniards,  but  because  they  are  traitors,  rob- 
bers, and  murderers  ! "  The  French  did  not  attempt,  however,  to  establish  a  colony, 
but,  after  destroying  everything,  sailed  away. 

Menendez  returned,  re-established  his  colony,  and  seems  to  have  governed  it  with 
energy  and  capacity.     On  his  final  return  to  Spain  he  was  made  captain-general  of  the 


THE  LAND   OF  ORANGE-GROVES. 


409 


navy,  and  accorded  other  high  honors  for  his  American  exploits.  The  career  of  this 
iron  zealot  in  Florida,  though  stained  with  such  cruelty,  was  distinguished  for  its 
ability,  and  to  him  is  due  the  credit  of  having  established  the  first  permanent  settle- 
ment in  the  United  States. 

His  selection  of  St.  Augustine  as  the  site  for  the  principal  town  of  the  colony 
showed  good  judgment.  The  location  is  on  the  Atlantic,  011  a  narrow  peninsula 
formed  by  the  Sebastian  and  Matanzas  Rivers,  on  the  west  side  of  a  harbor  which  is 


The  City  Gate,  St.  Auffiatine. 

protected  from  the  ocean  by  the  low,  narrow  Island  of  Anastasia.  While  the  harbor 
is  large  enough  to  accommodate  ships  bringing  in  supplies,  it  is  inaccessible  to  large 
vessels,  and  therefore  tolerably  free  from  the  danger  of  hostile  attack.  In  the  direc- 
tion of  the  land,  the  estuaries  and  marshes  protected  the  settlement  from  the  Indians. 
The  great  healthfulness  of  St.  Augustine  also  conduced  to  the  success  of  the  colony. 
Surrounded  by  salt  marshes  and  free  from  miasmas,  the  balmy  and  bracing  sea-air 
saved  the  colonists  from  those  fevers  which  proved  so  fatal  to  European  settlers  on 
other  parts  of  the  Southern  coast. 


410  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

In  1586  the  bold  English  adventurer,  Sir  Francis  Drake,  who  looked  on  it  as  his 
peculiar  mission  to  exterminate  the  Spaniards  wherever  he  could  find  them,  and  thus 
win  gold  and  glory — for  there  was  always  good  booty  in  a  Spanish  settlement — ap- 
peared off  St.  Augustine.  He  had  already  been  harrying  the  West  Indian  settle- 
ments, and  his  arrival  caused  fear  and  trembling.  His  very  name  carried  with  it  so 
much  dread  that  mothers  hushed  their  babes  to  sleep  with  the  song  of  it.  The 
Spaniards  attempted  no  resistance,  but  fled  to  their  forts  on  the  St.  John's,  forty 
miles  above.  Drake  burned  and  pillaged  the  town,  and  carried  off  much  plunder. 
The  principal  buildings  at  that  time  were  a  court-house,  a  church,  and  a  monastery. 
After  the  departure  of  the  English  the  Spaniards  timidly  returned  and  rebuilt  the 
town.  But  it  grew  so  slowly  that  in  1647  there  were  only  three  hundred  families, 
or  fifteen  hundred  people,  including  the  monks,  who  swarmed  wherever  there  was  a 
Spanish  town.  In  1665  there  was  another  attack  on  St.  Augustine,  by  an  English 
buccaneer,  Captain  John  Davis,  who  landed  the  crews  of  seven  small  vessels,  and 
pillaged  the  town,  without  much  resistance  from  the  garrison. 

Thirty-seven  years  after  this,  Spain  and  England  then  being  at  war,  an  expedition 
against  St.  Augustine  was  organized  by  Governor  Moore,  of  South  Carolina.  The 
little  army  consisted  of  six  hundred  whites  and  as  many  Indian  allies,  and  the  plan 
of  operations  comprised  a  march  by  land  of  one  portion  of  the  force,  and  an  attack 
by  sea  of  the  other.  The  land-force,  under  Coloniel  Daniel,  reached  St.  Augustine 
first,  and  easily  captured  the  town,  the  Spanish  governor  and  the  principal  citizens 
taking  refuge  in  the  strong  fort  of  St.  Marks,  which  was  well  garrisoned  and  pro- 
visioned. When  Governor  Moore  arrived  with  his  ships,  a  combined  attack  was  made 
on  the  castle,  but  its  strong  walls  proved  invulnerable  to  the  light-sized  guns  of  the 
assailants.  Colonel  Daniel  was  sent  to  Jamaica  for  artillery  of  heavier  caliber,  but, 
while  he  was  gone,  two  armed  Spanish  ships  appeared  in  the  offing.  Governor 
Moore,  fearing  that  he  was  likely  to  be  attacked  by  superior  numbers,  and  his  retreat 
cut  off,  raised  the  siege,  burned  the  munitions  he  could  not  carry  with  him,  and 
barbarously  set  fire  to  the  town.  The  amenities  of  'warfare  were  not  then  preserved 
very  carefully  on  either  side.  When  Colonel  Daniel  returned  from  Jamaica,  with 
re-enforcements  and  heavy  guns,  he  found  himself  badly  overmatched,  and  narrowly 
escaped  capture.  So  he,  too,  thought  prudence  the  better  part  of  valor,  and  sailed 
back  to  Carolina  in  disgust,  but  without  the  loss  of  a  single  man.  This  bloodless 
expedition  cost  the  colony  of  South  Carolina  the  sum  of  six  thousand  pounds,  and 
caused  the  first  issue  of  paper  money  known  in  America.  In  1727  there  was  another 
Carolina  raid  into  Florida,  which  carried  fire  and  sword  to  the  very  gates  of  St. 
Augustine,  but  no  attempt  was  made  to  attack  the  city. 

St.  Augustine  successfully  defied  the  assaults  of  the  English,  and  seemed  a  charmed 
spot,  though  the  town  had  been  burned  several  times.  General  Oglethorpe,  who  was 
Governor  of  Georgia  in  1740,  led  an  expedition  against  the  Spanish  city  on  the  decla- 
ration of  war  between  England  and  Spain.  He  was  assisted  by  South  Carolina  and 
six  English  war-ships.  The  Governor  of  Florida,  Don  Manuel  de  Monteano,  was  a 


THE  LAND   OF  ORANGE-GROVES. 


411 


Watch-Tower,  St.  JforA's  (Jostl*. 

man  of  resources  and  res- 
olution, and,   though    he 
had  but  a  small  garrison, 
made    a    stout    defense. 
Oglethorpe    besieged    the 
Spaniards    by    land    and 
sea  for  some  six  weeks, 
but,    becoming    satisfied 
that  he  could  not  take  the  place  in 
a  short  time,  he  yielded  to  the  mur- 
murs of  his  men  and  his  fear  of  bad 
weather.     He  embarked   his  troops, 
sailed  for  home,  and  added  another 
failure  to  the  long  list  which  marked 
the  English  attempts  to  take  Florida. 

Two  years  after,  Monteano,  the  Spanish  governor,  determined  to  pay  his  compli- 
ments to  the  English  in  turn.  Having  received  re-enforcements  from  Cuba,  he  sailed 
from  St.  Augustine  with  thirty-six  ships  and  three  thousand  men  to  attack  the 
Georgian  settlements.  Though  he  met  with  some  success,  he  was  finally  baffled  and 
obliged  to  sail  back  to  Florida.  Oglethorpe,  the  following  year,  made  a  fierce  raid 
into  the  Spanish  dominions,  and  penetrated  to  the  very  gates  of  St.  Mark's  Castle. 
But  it  was  an  expedition  for  spoil  and  devastation,  not  for  conquest.  With  such 


412  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

celerity  did  Oglethorpe  move,  that  he  arrived  at  St.  Augustine  before  his  enemies 
had  any  warning,  and  his  Cherokee  braves  scalped  forty  Spanish  soldiers  right  under 
the  muzzles  of  the  castle  guns. 

When  peace  was  established,  in  1763,  Florida  was  ceded  to  the  English,  in  return 
for  Havana,  which  had  been  captured  during  the  war  by  an  English  fleet.  At  this 
change  of  sovereignty  nearly  all  the  Floridians  removed  to  Cuba  or  to  Mexico,  and 
the  beautiful  country  was  left  nearly  stripped  of  people.  Great  efforts  were  made  in 
England  to  promote  emigration  to  the  new  territory.  These  schemes  were  unsuccess- 
ful in  England ;  but  a  project  of  a  Scotchman,  Dr.  Andrew  Turnbull,  resulted  in 
gathering  a  colony  of  settlers  from  the  shores  and  islands  of  the  Mediterranean — largely 
from  the  Island  of  Minorca.  Fifteen  hundred  Greeks,  Italians,  and  Minorcans  came 
over  in  1767,  and  were  planted  at  New  Smyrna,  on  the  Mosquito  Inlet,  about  ninety 
miles  south  of  St.  Augustine.  It  was  believed  that  these  emigrants  from  Southern 
Europe  would  succeed  eminently  well  in  raising  the  fruits  of  their  native  climates  in 
a  country  so  nearly  similar  to  their  own.  Here  they  remained  till  1776,  when  their 
number  had  been  reduced  by  sickness  to  about  six  hundred,  and  this  remnant  aban- 
doned New  Smyrna  in  a  body  and  made  their  way  to  St.  Augustine.  Here  lots 
were  assigned  them,  and  their  descendants  still  remain  there,  constituting  an  interest- 
ing and  important  element  of  the  population.  After  twenty  years  of  possession, 
Florida  was  again  made  the  subject  of  barter.  It  was  ceded  to  Spain  in  1783,  in 
exchange  for  the  Bahama  Islands.  St.  Augustine  at  that  time  possessed  about  three 
thousand  inhabitants. 

Some  few  English  families  remained  after  the  evacuation  by  the  British  and  the 
entire  settlement  of  Greeks  and  Minorcans.  But  most  of  the  English  departed,  leav- 
ing their  delightful  homes  and  gardens,  we  may  fancy,  with  great  regret.  To  use  the 
language  of  an  historian  of  the  State  :  "All  the  gardens  in  the  town  were  well  stocked 
witli  fruit-trees,  such  as  figs,  guavas,  plantains,  pomegranates,  lemons,  limes,  citrons, 
shaddocks,  bergamot,  china,  and  Seville  oranges.  .  .  .  Homes  embowered  among  the 
orange-groves,  and  made  pleasant  by  the  fragrant  blossoms  of  the  honeysuckle,  acacia, 
and  the  rose ;  a  land  where  Nature  had  lavished  her  choicest  beauties  and  created  an 
eternal  summer — such  was  the  land  on  which  the  unfortunate  residents  of  Florida 
were  obliged  to  turn  their  backs  for  ever."  What  was  then  said  in  glowing  descrip- 
tion of  St.  Augustine  applies  with  even  greater  force  at  the  present  time. 

In  1821  Florida  passed,  by  treaty,  from  the  dominion  of  Spain  to  that  of  the  United 
States,  and  there  has  been  but  little  in  its  history  since  worth  noting.  The  romance 
of  St.  Augustine  has  now,  for  the  most  part,  gone.  The  merry  procession  of  the 
carnival,  with  mask,  violin,  and  guitar;  the  round  figure  of  the  cassocked  padre;  the 
delicate  form  of  the  Spanish  lady,  clad  in  mantilla  and  basquina  ;  the  haughty,  brill- 
iant cavaliers ;  the  flower-dance,  with  its  blossoms  and  garlands — all  have  passed  away. 
The  romantic  suburbs  are  now  being  filled  with  costly  winter  villas  by  Northern  resi- 
dents, and  in  a  few  years  St.  Augustine  bids  fair  to  be  the  Newport  of  the  South. 
A  visitor  well  describes  the  effect  of  a  splendid  winter  day  in  December  :  "  I  seemed 


THE  LAND   OF  ORANGE-GROVES. 


413 


incapable  of  any  effort ;  the  strange  fascination  of  the  antique  and  remote  fortress- 
town  was  on  me.  The  sunshine  penetrated  to  every  corner  of  my  room.  There 
was  no  broad  and  unpleasant  glare — no  impertinent  staring  on  the  sun's  part — but 


A  Street  in  St.   Augustine. 

a  gladsome  light,  which  I  have  never  seen  elsewhere.  I  walked  out  at  noonday ; 
the  town  seemed  transfigured  ;  the  shadows  thrown  from  the  balconies,  from  the  date- 
trees,  from  the  thickets  of  roses,  were  mystical ;  I  sat  down  on  the  grass-grown  ram- 
parts near  the  old  fort,  and  (forgetting  the  gnats)  let  the  gentle  sea-breeze  caress  my 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


A  Florida  Garden. 


THE  LAND   OF  ORANGE-GROVES.  415 

temples,  and  memories  of  by-gone  centuries  take  complete  possession  of  me.  At  that 
moment  the  rest  of  the  world  seemed  as  remote  us  paradise,  vague  as  Ilium,  foreign 
as  the  Zenda vesta." 

The  most  conspicuous  feature  of  the  quaint  old  town  is  the  time-honored  fort  of 
St.  Marks,  also  called  Fort  Marion.  It  is  built  of  coquina,  a  peculiar  conglomerate, 
found  on  Anastasia  Island,  at  the  mouth  of  the  harbor,  which  is  soft  when  quarried, 
but  grows  hard  when  exposed  to  the  air.  It  forms  a  wall  well  calculated  to  resist 
cannon-shot,  as  it  does  not  splinter  when  struck.  It  stands  at  an  end  of  the  town 
facing  the  sea,  and  was  a  hundred  years  in  building.  An  inscription  on  the  gateway, 
carved  in  the  stone,  with  the  arms  of  Spain  chiseled  above  it,  reads  as  follows  :  "Don 
Fernando,  being  King  of  Spain,  and  the  Field-Marshal  Don  Fernando  Herida  being 
Governor  and  Captain-General  of  this  place,  St.  Augustine  of  Florida,  and  its  prov- 
inces, this  fort  was  finished  in  the  year  1756.  The  works  were  directed  by  the  Cap- 
tain-Engineer Don  Pedro  de  Brazos  y  Gareny."  It  is  even  to-day  one  of  the  most 
striking-looking  buildings  in  the  United  States.  Its  castellated  battlements ;  the 
frowning  bastions,  with  the  great  guns  ;  its  lofty  and  imposing  sally-port,  with  the 
royal  arms  of  Spain  wrought  above  ;  its  portcullis,  moat,  and  draw-bridge ;  the  sentry- 
box  at  each  parapet  angle  ;  the  commanding  lookout  tower,  and  the  stained  and  moss- 
grown  massive  walls — all  these  impress  the  observer  as  a  relic  of  the  far-away  past. 
Then  a  ramble  through  the  heavy  casemates  ;  through  the  crumbling  Eomish  chapel, 
with  elaborate  portico,  and  inner  shrines  and  holy-water  niches ;  through  the  dark 
passages,  gloomy  vaults,  and  more  recently  discovered  dungeons — such  a  stroll  makes 
you  easily  believe  the  many  traditions  of  inquisitorial  tortures,  of  decaying  skeletons 
found  in  the  latest  opened  chambers,  chained  to  the  rusty  ring-bolts,  and  of  alleged 
subterranean  passages  through  to  the  adjoining  convent. 

Many  of  the  buildings  in  the  town  are  quaintly  redolent  of  antiquity.  There  is 
the  old  cathedral,  with  its  belfry  in  the  form  of  the  section  of  a  bell-shaped  pyramid, 
its  chime  of  four  bells  in  separate  niches,  and  its  clock,  together  forming  a  cross. 
The  date  on  the  oldest  of  the  bells  is  1682.  The  old  convent  of  St.  Mary's  is  an 
interesting  building,  and  there  is  the  later  built  convent  made  of  coquina.  The 
United  States  barracks,  which  have  been  remodeled,  are  said  to  have  been  originally 
a  convent.  The  old  government  palace  is  now  used  as  the  United  States  post-office 
and  court-room.  At  its  rear  is  a  well-preserved  relic  of  another  old  fortification, 
evidently  designed  to  protect  the  town  from  inland  attack.  A  still  older  house,  sup- 
posed to  have  been  the  Spanish  governor's,  was  pulled  down  a  few  years  ago. 

The  fine  public  square,  in  the  center  of  the  town,  is  known  as  the  Pla/a  de  la 
Constitucion,  and  in  the  middle  of  it  is  a  stately  monument,  built  in  memory  of  the 
liberal  Spanish  constitution.  On  the  plaza  stand  the  ancient  markets,  and  facing 
them  the  cathedral,  the  old  palace,  the  convent,  a  modern  Episcopal  church,  and  other 
fine  buildings. 

Among  other  features  of  interest  are  the  old  Huguenot  burying-ground,  and  the 
military  burying-ground  where  lie  the  remains  of  Major  Dade  and  the  men  of  his 


416 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


command  who  were  massacred  by  Osceola  and  his  band.  The  whole  ocean-front  of  the 
city  is  protected  by  a  fine  sea-wall  about  a  mile  long,  built  of  coquina  with  a  granite 
coping.  Here  is  the  favorite  moonlight  promenade  of  the  St.  Augustinians.  In  full 
view  is  the  old  light-house  on  Anastasia  Island,  built  more  than  a  century  ago,  and 
now  surmounted  by  a  fine  revolving  lantern. 

The  visitor  can  not  but  be  impressed  with  the  appearance  of  the  city,  which  is  as 
quaint  as  its  history  is  romantic.  It  is  unlike  anything  except  an  old  town  of  Spain 
or  Italy.  You  walk  through  narrow  streets,  one  of  which,  nearly  a  mile  long,  is  only 
fifteen  feet  wide.  One  of  the  principal  hotels  is  built  on  a  street  only  twelve  feet 

wide,  while  the  widest  of 
all  is  only  twenty-five  feet 
between  the  walls  of  the 
houses.  In  the  warm  cli- 
mate of  Florida  this  nar- 
rowness gives  shade,  and 
the  air  draws  through  them 
like  a  flue.  Many  of  the 
houses,  with  high  roofs 
and  dormer-windows,  have 
hanging  balconies  along 
their  second  stories  which 
seem  almost  to  touch,  and 
allow  the  families  sitting  in 
them  to  shake  hands  with 
their  over-the-way  neigh- 
bors. 

The  street  walls  often 
extend  in  front  of  the  side 
garden,  or  the  houses  in- 
close uncovered  courts,  so 
that  passing  through  the 
The  Date-Palm.  main  entrance  you  still  find 

yourself  in  the   open   air. 

An  occasional  lattice-door  gives  you  a  peep  into  a  charming  court-yard  interior,  where 
you  see  huge  stone  arches,  winding  staircases,  and  the  richest  profusion  of  tropical 
fruits  and  flowers.  All  this  brings  to  mind  the  romantic  legends  of  Spanish  damsels, 
of  stolen  interviews  through  the  lattice-windows,  of  elopements  by  means  of  forged 
key  or  bribed  porter,  of  rope  ladders  and  daring  cavaliers  vanishing  through  the 
chamber-windows.  The  main  streets  were  formerly  well  floored  with  shell-concrete, 
and  so  carefully  was  this  pavement  swept  that  the  dark-eyed  girls  of  Spain  could 
pass  and  repass  without  soiling  their  dainty  little  slippers. 

The  nuns  of  the  two  convents  now  existing  are  occupied  mainly  with  the  educa- 


THE  LAND   OF  ORANGE-GROVES.  417 

tion  of  young  girls.  They  also  practice  the  art  of  making  lace,  and  have  introduced 
the  manufacture  of  hats  from  the  palmetto  and  wire-grass,  both  of  them  very  strong 
and  durable  material. 

In  the  grounds  of  all  the  houses,  whether  of  the  old  Spanish  style  or  the  Amer- 
ican buildings,  may  be  seen  a  perfect  wilderness  of  plants,  trees,  and  shrubs.  Here 
grow,  ready  for  the  hands  of  him  who  would  pluck  and  eat,  every  delicious  variety  of 
tropical  fruit,  as  well  as  the  peach,  the  grape,  and  the  melon,  of  more  temperate 
climes.  Among  the  trees  of  peculiar  form  that  will  attract  the  attention  of  the 
Northern  yisitor  is  the  date-palm. 

A  peculiarity  of  the  trunk  of  the  palm  is  that  it  has  the  same  diameter  at  the  top 
as  it  has  at  the  base.  Its  long  shaft  is  ornamented  with  a  capital  about  six  feet  high, 
clothed  with  branches  some  fifteen  feet  long,  the  leaves  of  which  are  arranged  like  the 
feather  part  of  a  quill.  These  palms,  so  essentially  tropical  in  their  character  and 
appearance,  vary  also  from  the  vegetation  of  northern  climates  in  every  intrinsic  qual- 
ity as  well  as  shape.  The  heart  of  the  palm  is  pith  ;  the  heart  of  the  northern  tree 
is  its  most  solid  part.  The  age  of  the  palm  is  legibly  written  upon  its  exterior  sur- 
face ;  the  age  of  the  northern  tree  is  concealed  under  a  protecting  bark.  The  north- 
ern tree,  though  native  of  a  cold,  inhospitable  climate,  is  adapted  to  give  shade ;  the 
palm,  with  its  straight,  unadorned  trunk  and  meager  tuft  of  leafy  limbs,  gives  no 
protection  to  the  earth  or  to  man  from  the  burning  tropical  sun. 

As  a  typical  fruit,  and  one  of  the  most  interesting  of  the  many  luscious  varieties 
which  grow  in  a  Florida  garden,  let  us  take  the  banana  and  glance  at  its  various 
stages  of  growth.  In  the  winter,  perhaps,  all  we  note  is  a  collection  of  yellow, 
blasted  leaves,  as  if  some  fire  had  swept  over  them  and  withered  them  on  the  stalk. 
With  the  prevailing  airs  of  spring,  there  suddenly  comes  from  this  repulsive  stubble- 
heap  evidence  of  growth,  and  there  at  last  shoots  up,  in  different  places,  what  ap- 
pear to  be  sharp  spears  of  the  most  livid  green.  Gaining  strength,  they  seemingly 
elongate  and  reach  upward,  even  while  under  the  eye,  and,  as  the  heat  of  the  semi- 
tropical  sun  increases,  the  decaying  "  trash "  fairly  palpitates  with  the  struggling, 
rapid  growth  of  what  were  the  roots  of  the  banana,  which,  from  their  vigorous  wake- 
fulness,  seemed  to  have  hibernated  rather  than  temporarily  died  in  the  winter  months. 
A  few  hours  make  a  perceptible  difference  in  their  growth,  and  a  day  brings  forth  a 
new  revelation — and  thus  the  brave  work  struggles  on  toward  perfection. 

We  find,  when  the  banana  is  at  its  full  growth,  that  what  appeared  to  be  the 
trunk  was  almost  wholly  composed  of  the  united  stems  and  foliage.  On  the  top  of 
this  herbaceous  stalk,  some  nine  or  ten  feet  in  the  air,  the  wonderful  leaves,  of  a 
most  delicate  green,  and  averaging  two  feet  in  width  and  six  in  length,  radiate  from 
one  point,  reaching  out  straightwise  a  short  distance,  and  then,  turning  downward, 
form  a  parasol,  or  bower,  of  the  most  exquisite  beauty,  solid  enough  to  afford  equal 
protection  from  rain  or  sun.  The  cone  of  buds,  made  up  of  a  succession  of  rings  of 
flowers,  one  above  the  other,  completes  the  structure.  The  arrangement  of  these  blos- 
soms, obtruding  from  their  soft  purple  sheaths,  enchants  the  eye  by  their  exquisite 
27 


418 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


forms,  varied  colors,  and  exhilarating  odors ;  but  they  do  more,  for  they  protect  and 
cover  the  newly-born  fruit. 

We  become  aware  that  the  leaf  is  not  only  the  most  important  part  of  the  plant, 
but  the  only  living  part,  the  root,  trunk,  and-  branches,  being  only  fibers  extending 
from  the  leaves.  The  ingenuity  and  wisdom  displayed  in  the  growth  of  a  leaf  six 


Growth  of  the  Banana-Leaf  and  of  the  Pruti. 


feet  long  can  never  be  fully  realized  except  from  observation.  This  leaf  does  not 
develop  from  a  minute  inception,  and  then  go  on  growing  until  complete,  but,  start- 
ling as  it  may  appear,  it  is  born  of  the  balmy  breezes  of  a  single  morn. 

Growing  first  as  a  long,  slender  shoot,  it  towers  upward  several  feet  as  stiff  as  a 
rod.  If  you  examine  this  vegetable  line,  you  will  find  it  apparently  a  pithy  substance, 
which  in  time  is  to  harden  into  solid  wood — but  such  is  not  the  case.  When  the 
hour  arrives,  by  some  wonderful  transformation,  the  solid  green  stalk  turns  into  a 
roll  of  what  is  the  long  banana-leaf.  At  the  appointed  time  a  line  of  demarkation 
appears  along  the  entire  length  of  this  green  stalk,  which  line,  under  the  coquetting 
influence  of  the  gentle  breeze,  soon  unfolds  itself  from  the  parent-stem,  and,  to  your 


THE  LAND   OF  ORANGE-GROVES.  419 

astonishment,  one  half  of  the  gigantic  leaf  displays  itself.  This  accomplished,  you 
are  further  surprised  to  find  the  remaining  half  of  the  leaf  has  been  rolled  up  along- 
side of  the  stem,  but  now,  released  from  imprisonment,  it,  in  turn,  unfolds,  and  the 
perfect,  magnificent  foliage,  as  if  by  a  miracle,  glistens  in  the  sun. 

As  these  great  leaves  one  by  one  add  their  power  to  the  general  growth,  the 
banana  actually  swells  and  heaves  with  internal  power.  The  sun  plays  upon  their 
surfaces,  and  ripens  the  crude  juices,  preparing  substance  for  new  leaves,  and  at  last 
the  fruit.  As  the  plant  advances  toward  perfection,  it  becomes  an  active,  living  thing, 
pumping,  respiring,  and  laboring,  impelled  by  an  unseen  but  irrepressible  force.  The 
limited  number  of  gigantic  leaves  are  doing  the  surface-work  of  the  thousands  which 
so  gracefully  adorn  the  apple  and  the  oak. 

The  magnificent  bouquet  of  blossoms  finally  disappears,  and  the  fruit  has  formed 
on  the  stems.  The  leafy  canopy  is  now  complete,  and,  receiving  the  sap  that  surges 
upward  from  the  ever-swelling  roots,  with  most  subtile  chemistry  extracts  from  the 
ever-enriching  sun  such  aroma  as  belongs  to  the  growing  banana-fruit,  imparting  to 
the  juices,  as  needs  be,  the  flavors  of  the  orange,  the  vanilla,  the  lemon,  and  the 
pineapple. 

The  cone  of  expected  ripened  fruit  now  towers  aloft,  and  grows  in  size  and  im- 
portance daily.  There  it  stands,  an  apex  worthy  of  such  a  wonder  of  the  wealth  of 
Pomona,  boastful  indeed,  a  very  braggart  in  its  promise.  But  soon  the  tasteless, 
spongy  heart  is  filled  with  nutritious  juices  —  the  object  of  its  creation  approaches 
consummation.  Vanity  gives  way  to  utility,  and  the  towering  cone  of  the  banana, 
as  if  conscious  that  brilliant  display  is  no  longer  necessary,  gracefully  turns  its  head 
downward,  and  thus  modestly  completes  its  round  of  life.  The  wonderful  fruit  of 
the  banana,  by  a  law  of  its  existence,  remains  untouched  by  insects  until  it  is  per- 
fectly ripe.  If  it  is  picked  green,  it  comes  to  perfection  in  the  shade  of  your  house. 
It  is  because  of  this  provision  that  we  have  bananas  as  delicate  and  fresh  in  taste 
and  perfume  in  New  York  as  they  have  them  in  Jamaica  or  Matanzas. 

Of  the  many  semi-tropical  fruits  grown  in  Florida  the  orange  is  by  far  the  most 
important,  and  its  culture  is  becoming  the  principal  industry  of  the  State.  It  is 
found  in  all  sections,  as  common  as  the  apple  in  the  North,  growing  in  field  and 
garden.  It  is,  not  known  whether  it  is  indigenous  to  the  State,  but  the  weight  of 
opinion  is  in  favor  of  its  having  been  introduced  by  the  Spaniards,  the  innumerable 
wild  groves  of  sour  orange  having  been  probably  the  result  of  deterioration  and 
neglect. 

Though  the  orange  finds  in  Florida  its  most  favorable  conditions,  and  has  always 
been  generally  grown,  it  is  only  since  the  late  war  that  special  attention  has  been 
given  to  its  growth  as  an  important  industrial  fact  of  the  State.  So  great  has  been 
the  development  since  1873,  when  many  who  had  suffered  from  the  financial  panic 
that  year  were  led  to  invest  the  wrecks  of  their  fortunes  in  Florida  lands,  that  to-day 
this  delicious  fruit  is  to  the  State  what  cattle  are  to  Texas,  corn  and  pork  to  Illinois, 
wheat  to  Iowa  and  Minnesota,  and  peaches  to  Delaware  and  New  Jersey. 


420 


OUR  NATIVE   LAND. 


An  orange-tree  is  a  beautiful  sight  at  all  seasons  of  the  year.  It  has  a  straight, 
shapely,  upright  trunk,  covered  with  a  smooth,  sleek,  pale-gray  bark,  and  graceful 
curving  branches,  which  spread  in  all  directions.  These  are  always  clothed  with  a 
luxuriant  foliage  of  rich,  glossy,  dark-green  leaves  where  the  tree  is  well  cared  for. 
The  regular  blossoming-time  is  in  the  spring,  but  trees  may  be  seen  in  blossom  at  all 
seasons  of  the  year,  and  it  is  not  unseldom  that  one  sees  on  the  same  tree  the  blossoms, 
green  fruit,  and  the  ripe  golden  globes  in  full  maturity.  The  harvest  period  is  from 
November  to  early  March,  depending  somewhat  on  the  season.  No  more  fascinating 
spectacle,  amid  the  rich  productiveness  of  Nature,  can  be  witnessed  than  a  grove 
bending  with  its  glowing  yellow  burden  of  luscious  fruit. 


A  Florida  Orange- Grove. 

The  orange  is  a  very  hardy  fruit  in  its  natural  habitat  and  imder  the  right  condi- 
tions. An  interesting  fact  is  that  it  seems  to  love  human  companionship,  those  trees 
nearest  inhabited  dwellings  always  doing  the  best,  even  when  all  the  other  conditions 
are  equal.  The  tree  continues  to  grow  until  it  gets  to  be  about  forty  years  old,  and 
it  is  estimated  that  it  will  yield  productively  till  it  has  passed  its  hundredth  year,  j 
There  are  many  trees  known  to  be  eighty  years  old  that  still  continue  to  produce 
enormous  crops.  They  are  in  fact  not  in  their  prime  until  over  twenty  years  old, 
and  then  they  increase  in  productiveness  for  at  least  a  score  of  years  more. 

Though  we  do  not  in  this  article  intend  to  enter  into  any  elaborate  description  of 
orange-growing,  a  few  facts  about  the  methods  and  conditions  of  culture  may  be  of 
interest.  It  is  almost  beyond  a  question  that  to  energetic  and  industrious  young  men, 


THE  LAND   OF  ORANGE-GROVES. 


421 


with  a  little  capital,  no  branch  of  agriculture  presents  such  certainty  of  large  returns 
with  comparatively  small  difficulty,  as  raising  oranges  in  Florida.  Of  course,  notable 
success  demands  patience,  thoroughness,  and  knowledge  of  the  conditions  involved  in 
this  as  in  all  other  enterprises,  but  it  is  less  contingent  on  uncertainties  perhaps  than 
any  other  branch  of  field  or  fruit  culture,  the  only  danger  being  the  possibility  of  a 
frost  in  the  northerly  portions  of  the  State. 

A  great  variety  of  soil  is  available  for  orange-culture,  but  it  is  important  in  all 
cases  that  it  shall  be  well  drained.  The  price  of  good  orange-lands,  in  a  position 
convenient  to  market,  has  risen  very  much  in  a  few  years,  so  that  it  now  ranges 
from  five  to  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  dollars  per  acre.  Young  trees  of  the  sour- 


A  Palmetto- Grove. 

orange  variety  (for  these  are  most  hardy  and  vigorous)  are  generally  transplanted  to 
the  ground  when  prepared,  and  these  are  budded  with  the  sweet  orange,  either  before 
or  after-  the  transplanting,  as  the  case  may  be.  Of  the  best  varieties  there  are 
about  a  dozen,  all  of  which  are  in  great  demand.  Careful  culture  is  needed,  and  the 
ground  should  be  richly  fertilized.  The  same  skill  in  pruning,  the  same  watchful 
care  against  insects  and  disease  are  needed,  as  in  the  case  of  Northern  fruits,  but, 
while  the  care  is  no  greater  in  promoting  the  growth  of  the  orange,  the  returns  are 
tenfold  greater.  It  is  stated  by  those  having  large  experience  that  an  orange-grove 
becomes  self-supporting  after  the  fifth  year.  Thenceforward  the  crop  increases  in 
value  every  year,  until  at  the  end  of  ten  or  twelve  years  the  yield  should  be  not  less 


422  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

than  ten  dollars  per  tree,  or  about  seven  hundred  dollars  an  acre.  There  are  some 
single  trees  in  Florida  which  yield  a  hundred  dollars  apiece  every  year  to  their  fortu- 
nate owners.  Yet  with  all  these  advantages,  which  seem  so  golden  and  glowing  to 
the  Northern  farmer,  who  toils  early  and  late  for  a  small  return,  it  must  not  be  be- 
lieved that  the  orange-culture  is  a  matter  of  luck,  or  yields  its  rewards  to  the  indolent 
and  shiftless  man.  Skill,  energy,  and  intelligent  labor  are  necessary  here  for  success, 
as  well  as  in  less  favored  lands. 

Of  the  other  fruits  which  grow  luxuriantly  in  Florida,  such  as  the  lemon,  the 
lime,  the  citron,  the  bergamot,  the  fig,  the  olive,  the  pineapple,  the  cocoa-nut,  the 
date,  and  similar  tropical  fruits,  which  grow  in  all  or  specific  portions  of  the  State, 
we  can  only  say  in  passing  that  they  all  reward  attention  and  culture. 

Everywhere  throughout  the  State  the  traveler  observes  trees  of  unique  and  peculiar 
appearance.  The  palms,  both  the  date  and  cocoa-nut,  raise  their  tall  and  stately 
shafts  plumed  with  crowns  of  fan-like  foliage  on  the  coast  line  of  the  southern  por- 
tion of  Florida,  and  everywhere  may  be  observed  the  characteristic  palmetto,  which 
often  occurs  in  extensive  groves.  Mingled  with  these  tropical  trees  are  those  which 
are  also  found  in  northern  climes,  such  as  the  pine,  the  oak,  and  the  hickory.  The 
live-oak  of  Florida  is  one  of  the  noblest  trees  in  the  world,  both  in  size  and  sym- 
metry ;  and,  as  it  is  generally  garlanded  with  magnificent  wreaths  of  Spanish  moss,  it 
is  a  spectacle  that  never  fails  to  impress  the  imagination. 

It  does  not  consist  with  our  limits  to  enter  into  any  description  of  the  many 
charming  towns  in  Florida,  which  invite  the  invalid  or  the  settler.  These-  places  pos- 
sess attractions  and  benefits  according  to  the  needs  and  tastes  of  the  individual  who 
desires  to  utilize  them.  Fernandina,  Jacksonville,  St.  Augustine,  on  the  Atlantic 
coast ;  Pensacola,  Appalachicola,  St.  Marks,  Manatee,  Cedar  Keys,  Charlotte  Harbor,  and 
Tampa  Bay,  on  the  western  coast ;  Key  West,  amid  its  cluster  of  coral  islands  on  the 
south — all  these  have  separate  advantages,  and  all  are  delightful  resorts. 

Key  West,  which  lies  off  the  southern  extremity  of  the  State,  is  in  many  respects 
one  of  the  most  interesting  and  important  places  in  Florida.  A  very  flourishing  city 
has  grown  up  on  the  island,  and  culture  has  transformed  a  barren  coral  key  into  a 
perfect  paradise  of  fruits  and  flowers.  The  city  is  protected  by  extensive  water-bat- 
teries, and  has  a  charming  park,  while  on  the  southern  edge  of  the  island  towers  a 
noble  light-house,  a  mark  of  civilization  which  may  be  seen  on  more  than  one  of  the 
Florida  keys,  otherwise  wild  and  deserted,  standing  for  the  benefit  of  the  storm-tossed 
mariner.  The  Florida  keys,  which  are  dangerous  reefs  and  islands  built  by  the  little 
coral  polyp,  extend  around  the  southern  portion  of  the  State  on  both  sides,  and  in 
time  of  severe  storm  the  breakers  are  terrific,  giving  an  illustration  of  the  grandeur 
and  danger  of  the  ocean,  which  one  may  look  in  vain  to  see  surpassed. 

About  Key  West  everything  is  strange,  foreign,  and  interesting.  The  business- 
houses  and  public  buildings,  the  dwellings,  the  gardens,  lawns,  flowers,  trees,  soil,  and 
vegetation,  the  appearance  of  the  residents,  their  costumes,  and  even  their  names,  are 
essentially  un-American,  and  suggestive  of  a  foreign  clime  and  foreign  ways.  Key 


THE  LAND   OF  ORANGE-GROVES. 


423 


Florida  Pine-Barrens. 


424 


OUR    NATIVE  LAND. 


West  is  a  place  of  first-rate  commercial  importance,  and  supplies  the  needs  of  a  large 
section  of  Southern  and  Western  Florida.  Here  is  located  one  of  the  largest  cigar- 
making  industries  of  the  country,  many  hundreds  of  workmen,  mostly  Cubans,  being 
employed.  It  is  estimated  that  the  cigar-factories  of  Key  West  pay  the  Government 
an  annual  revenue  of  three  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  dollars.  Thirty  million 
cigars  were  manufactured  here  in  the  year  1880.  The  Government  buildings  here  are 
costly  and  extensive,  particularly  the  dock,  barracks,  and  fort,  as  Key  West  is  justly 
regarded  as  one  of  the  most  important  defensive  positions  in  the  country. 

For  the  sportsman 
Florida  is  a  veritable 
paradise,  and  the  lov- 
ers of  the  gun  and 
rod  here  find  a  bound- 
less field  for  the  exer- 
cise of  their  energies. 
Among  the  many  parts 
of  the  State  peculiarly 
attractive  to  the  devo- 
tee of  field-sports,  the 
Indian  Kiver  country 
deserves  special  men- 
tion, as  a  visit  to  this 
charming  region  in- 
volves but  little  hard- 
ship or  exposure.  This 
part  of  the  State  may 
be  reached  either  by 
steamboat  from  St. 
Augustine,  or  up  the 
St.  John's  Kiver  from 
Jacksonville.  From 
Enterprise,  the  head 

of  steam  navigation  on  the  St.  John's,  a  short  stage-journey  takes  us  to  Titusvillc, 
at  the  head  of  Indian  River. 

This  so-called  river  is  a  great  salt-water  lagoon  on  the  eastern  coast  of  Southern 
Florida,  being  divided  from  the  tumbling  billows  of  the  ocean  by  a  long  sand-key. 
Its  length  is  about  one  hundred  miles,  and  its  width  from  one  and  a  half  to  seven 
miles,  while  the  depth  of  the  channel  is  from  four  to  sixteen  feet ;  in  many  cases  one 
is  able  to  wade  a  half-mile  from  the  shore.  The  lagoon  abounds  in  every  variety  of 
fish  native  to  southern  waters,  but  is  specially  distinguished  for  its  splendid  mullet, 
the  general  weight  of  which  is  from  two  to  five  pounds,  though  they  often  reach  ten 
pounds.  The  pompano  the  king  of  fish,  the  sheep's-head,  the  red-fish,  sea-trout,  cava- 


Light-Jiause  OH  Florida  Keys. 


THE  LAND   OF  ORANGE-GROVES. 


425 


lier,  and  bass,  are  also  plentiful  to  such  a  degree  that  the  angler  almost  tires  of  exer- 
cising a  skill  which  seems  to  be  unnecessary.  On  the  shore  of  the  river,  away 
from  the  settlements,  and  on  the  great  sand-bar  between  it  and  the  ocean,  which  is 
covered  with  hummock-lands  and  thickets,  the  hunter  finds  a  profusion  of  game,  such 
as  the  bear,  the  panther,  the  lynx,  the  ocelot,  the  wild-cat,  and  the  deer. 

But  he  who  would  most  enjoy  the  conditions  of  hunting-life  must  cut  loose  from 
all  the  ties  of  civilization 
and  penetrate  far  into 
the  interior  of  the  wild 
and  romantic  swamps  of 
Southern  Plorida.  As 
plentiful  as  is  the  game 
in  the  fine  country  bor- 
dering the  Indian  Riv- 
er, the  sportsman  never 
gets  very  far  away  from 
the  haunts  of  civiliza- 
tion, nor  experiences  that 
deep  taste  of  solitude  and 
isolation  which  is  the 
crowning  joy  of  the  true 
Nimrod. 

Let  us  take  some  brief 
pictures  from  the  expe- 
riences of  Captain  Towns- 
hend,  an  English  Life- 
guardsman  who,  several 
years  ago,  spent  a  few 
months  in  the  Florida 
wilds,  and  wrote  an  en- 
tertaining account  of  his 
adventures.  He  found 
the  climate  so  fine,  and 

such   rich    spoil    for    rod  Indian 

and  gun,  that  even   the 

clouds  of  mosquitoes  and  "  incredible  number  of  sand-flies,  horse-flies,  blue  flies,  fleas, 
ticks,  tarantulas,  scorpions,  centipeds,  rattlesnakes,  and  moccasin-snakes"  did  not  seri- 
ously interfere  with  his  enjoyment.  Yet  the  gallant  Guardsman  admits  that,  "although 
in  the  excitement  of  the  chase  we  thought  but  little  of  danger,  still  the  whir  of  the 
rattlesnake  would  sometimes  send  a  shudder  through,  us  as  we  forced  our  way  through 
a  dense  covert ;  and  a  rustle  among  the  dry  palmetto-leaves  outside  our  tents  at  night 
would  cause  a  thrill  of  fear  to  mingle  with  the  silent  curses  which  were  wont  to 


426  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

greet  the  sharp  buzz  of  the  intruding  mosquito."  The  southwest,  south,  and  south- 
east of  the  Florida  Peninsula  are  still  unknown,  and  rarely  visited  except  by  an  occa- 
sional sportsman,  the  cattle-herders,  and  the  few  Indians  who  still  wander  among  the 
Everglade  swamps. 

The  hunter  and  his  guides  penetrated  to  the  Myakka  Lakes,  about  twenty-five 
miles  northeast  from  Tampa  Bay.  He  thus  writes  of  the  rich  plenitude  of  bird  and 
beast  life  in  the  Florida  wilds  : 

"  In  the  early  morning  we  were  daily  wakened  in  our  camp,  about  half  an  hour 
before  sunrise"  (the  hunters  had  found  their  host's  mansion  too  much  afflicted  with 
uncomfortable  bedfellows,  and  erected  their  tent  on  the  lawn),  "by  such  a  chorus  of 
birds  and  insects  as  was  truly  marvelous.  At  that  time  all  created  things  seemed  to 
awaken  to  active  life  as  suddenly  as,  in  these  latitudes,  day  succeeds  to  night  and 
night  to  day.  The  deep,  harsh,  melancholy  whoop  of  the  sand-hill  crane,  the  cry  of 
bitterns,  herons,  and  ibis,  the  chattering  of  paroquets,  the  melody  of  a  thousand  song- 
birds, the  hum  of  millions  of  insects,  all  combined  in  a  sudden  burst  of  sound  that 
would  have  roused  the  seven  sleepers.  As  the  sun  quickly  mounted  above  the  pine- 
tops,  the  various  sounds  would  gradually  become  hushed,  till,  during  the  midday 
heats  all  became  still  as  death,  again  to  break  forth  as  the  evening  sun  rushed  down 
to  the  western  horizon,  but  ceasing  as  it  dipped  below  almost  as  quickly  as  the  sound 
had  burst  forth  in  the  morning.  The  silence  of  the  mid-hours  of  the  night  was 
broken  by  the  hoot  of  the  owls,  the  cry  of  the  night-birds,  and  the  more  savage  voices 
of  the  wolf,  the  panther,  the  ocelot,  and  the  alligator ;  so  that  during  the  midday 
heat  alone  is  there  silence  in  the  forests  and  swamps  of  Florida,  a  curious  contrast  to 
the  oppressive  stillness  of  the  vast  Northern  forests  during  the  daylight  hours.  When 
shooting  in  the  Northern  States,  I  have  felt  the  universal  silence  of  the  forest  abso- 
lutely painful,  the  occasional  crash  of  a  falling  tree  being  almost  the  only  sound 
heard,  as  the  note  of  song-birds  never  enlivens  those  gloomy  solitudes. 

"  In  the  Northern  forests  no  man  on  horseback  could  possibly  force  a  way  through 
without  free  use  of  the  axe,  owing  to  the  accumulation  of  fallen  timber,  and  the  fact 
of  the  trees  growing  so  close  together  as  to  leave  no  passing-room  ;  but,  in  Florida, 
except  in  the  swamps  and  hummocks,  the  forests  are  so.  open  that  a  horseman  could 
penetrate  from  one  end  of  the  country  to  the  other,  and  few  of  the  rivers  or  swamps 
north  of  the  Everglades  are  too  deep  to  ride  across  in  safety." 

The  sportsman's  experience  was  occasionally  of  a  sort  to  shake  the  strongest 
nerves.  The  attempt  was  made  to  drive  the  mosquitoes  out  by  burning  a  circle  all 
around  the  pine-grove.  The  dry  palmetto- leaves  blazed  up  finely,  and  the  party  were 
congratulating  themselves  on  being  rid  of  their  tormentors  when  one,  who  was  quietly 
seated  plucking  a  wild-turkey,  jumped  up  with  a  yell.  "  It's  raining  snakes  ! "  as  a 
rattlesnake  tumbled  down  on  his  head  from  the  palm  above,  fortunately  stupefied  by 
the  smoke,  which  curled  in  thick  clouds  above  their  heads.  Several  others  also  fell 
from  the  trees  later,  but  with  equal  harmlessness.  A  country  where  rattlesnakes  climb 
trees  can  not  be  said  to  be  altogether  without  its  drawbacks. 


THE  LAND   OF  ORANGE-GROVES. 


427 


Such  things,  however,  are  only  the  foil  to  the  brighter  side  of  the  picture  in  the 
Florida  wilderness.  Given  a  hardy  constitution,  passion  for  field-sports,  and  a  keen 
susceptibility  to  the  beauties  of  nature,  the  experience  of  all  who  have  camped  out 
in  these  sub-tropical  wilds  is  such  as  to  inspire  their  readers  with  a  pang  of  envy. 

Far  down  in  the  Everglades,  the  almost  unknowti  interior  of  Florida,  surrounded 
by  nearly  impenetrable  swamps  and  gloomy  forests,  lies  the  mysterious  lake  of  the 
South,  the  vast  Okechobee.  The  old  Spanish  conquistador es,  Ponce  de  Leon  and 
Hernando  de  Soto,  both  heard  of  this  grand  lake  from  the  Indians,  and  sought  to 


A  Hunter's  Camp. 

reach  it,  but  without  success.  The  early  Indians  of  the  interior  looked  on  it  as  a 
symbol  of  the  infinite,  and  with  the  sun  it  shared  their  worship.  The  veneration 
which  all  the  Indians  felt  for  this  lake,  from  swarthy  Yemassee  to  olive  Seminole, 
may  account  for  the  anxiety  with  which  they  always  hid  it  from  the  search  of  their 
white  brethren.  Its  vastness  filled  the  red-men  with  awe  ;  and  their  imagination 
supplied  what  they  could  not  discover.  It  was  the  paradise  of  the  Indian,  his  happy 
hunting-ground  on  earth.  Thus  was  the  lake  dotted  with  wondrously  beautiful  islands, 
and  the  far  shores  of  white  and  glittering  sand  bordered  a  land  of  crystal  fountains, 
beautiful  birds,  and  flowers. 


428 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


Lake  Okeechobee. 

It  is  probable  that  the  primary  source  of  the  St.  John's  River  is  found  in  Lake 
Okechobee,  but  for  a  period  of  more  than  a  century  and  a  half  there  seems  to  have 
been  very  little,  if  any,  knowledge  of  this  fine  body  of  water.  The  early  Spanish 
maps  locate  it,  but  it  is  only  within  recent  years  that  it  has  been  taken  out  of  the 
land  of  myth  and  made  a  fixed  geographical  fact.  The  lake  is  supposed  now  to  have 
been  the  source  of  supply  for  the  great  quantities  of  pearls  which  the  early  Spanish 
governors  took  from  the  natives.  The  only  mention  of  the  lake  in  the  last  century 
was  by  Romano,  who  in  1772  described  the  adventure  of  a  Spanish  soldier  who  was 


THE  LAND   OF  ORANGE-GROVES.  42 'J 

made  captive  and  carried  to  the  shores  of  Okechobee.  He  afterward  escaped  and 
brought  back  with  him  marvelous  stories.  There  is  a  tradition  among  the  Seminoles 
that  the  first  white  man  ever  seen  by  their  ancestors  was  on  the  shore  of  this  lake. 
He  came  up  out  of  the  water,  they  said,  and  then  disappeared.  This  may  have  been 
the  same  captive  referred  to  above.  But  little  was  known  about  the  lake  till  the 
necessities  of  war  compelled  the  search  of  the  Everglades  about  fifty  years  ago  in  the 
pursuit  of  the  warlike  Seminoles,  who  defended  their  haunts  with  such  desperate 
courage  against  their  white  invaders.  During  the  later  Seminole  war  (1856  to  1858), 
accurate  information  was  gained  of  the  northern  portion  of  the  lake,  and  there  were 
two  small  military  posts  on  its  shores,  but  these  were  afterward  abandoned,  and  the 
mysterious  Okechobee  was  remanded  again  to  its  old  seclusion  and  solitude. 

From  time  to  time  there  came  sensational  stories  of  the  wonders  of  the  lake  from 
the  few  who  had  visited  its  shores.  Ruins  of  castles  and  monasteries  with  carved  and 
ornamented  pillars  ;  ruins  of  Indian  cities  ;  dens  of  pirates,  containing  untold  treasures 
— all  these  were  found  on  an  island  somewhere  in  the  lake.  One  told  of  monkeys  and 
baboons,  another  of  moccasin-snakes  as  long  as  the  sea-serpent.  The  map  prefixed  to 
Williams's  "History  of  Florida,"  printed  in  1838,  omitted  Lake  Okechobee,  it  may 
be  mentioned,  as  the  author  found  no  sound  reason  for  believing  in  its  existence ! 
Unparalleled  as  such  an  ignorance  of  a  body  of  water  with  a  superficies  of  twelve 
hundred  square  miles,  in  the  center  of  a  State  settled  nearly  half  a  century  before 
any  other  State,  and  which  had  been  governed  for  years  by  Spanish,  by  English,  and 
by  Americans,  may  be,  it  fairly  illustrates  the  impassable  nature  of  the  vast  swamps 
and  dense  cypresses  known  as  the  Everglades. 

It  was  only  about  ten  years  ago  that  a  thorough  exploration  of  Lake  Okechobee 
was  made,  the  results  of  which  were  published  in  "  Appletons'  Journal  "  by  the  ex- 
plorer. 

Situated  in  the  midst  of  the  Everglades,  Lake  Okechobee  is  a  good  example  of 
their  character,  yet  we  can  not  leave  Florida  without  a  few  more  words  concerning 
this  most  interesting  portion  of  an  interesting  State.  There  is  a  great  deal  of  truth- 
fulness and  poetry  in  the  name  that  has  been  given  to  the  beautiful  openings  which 
occur  in  the  swampy  scenery  of  the  peninsula  of  Florida.  Formed  in  a  low  and  yet 
not  absolutely  level  country,  these  magnificent  examples  of  semi-tropical  richness  strike 
the  beholder  with  surprise  ;  and  it  seems  a  waste  of  Nature's  grandest  exhibitions  to 
have  these  carnivals  of  splendid  vegetation  occurring  in  isolated  places,  where  it  is 
but  seldom  that  they  are  seen  by  the  appreciative  eye. 

In  the  wars  which  have  occurred  in  times  past  with  the  natives  of  Florida,  we 
became  familiar  with  the  name  of  the  "Florida  Everglade,"  and  have  insensibly  asso- 
ciated it  with  the  sad  reminiscences  of  massacres  and  defeats  of  our  troops,  under  the 
lead  of  Scott,  Jessup,  Taylor,  and  other  of  our  famous  generals  who  flourished  some 
two-score  years  ago.  These  Everglades  are  places  where  Nature  is  most  profuse  in 
her  gigantic  vegetable  productions  —  forest-trees,  heaven-towering  in  height,  vines  and 
cactus-plants,  struggling  for  supremacy  in  the  rich  soil,  and  uniting  to  form  these 


430 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


An  Mind  in,  the  Lake. 


strongholds  under  the  protection  of  which  Osceola  and  other  great  native  chieftains 
made  their  most  effective  struggles  for  independence,  and  most  severely  taxed  the 
patience  and  courage  of  our  troops ;  and  it  was  in  these  places  that  the  savage  often 
gained  great  but  only  temporary  triumphs. 

Upon  obtruding  high  ground,  associated  with  these  Everglades,  grow  the  grandest 
live-oaks  of  the  world,  the  far-reaching  branches  of  an  individual  tree  often  extending 
over  a  surface  of  ground  equal  to  the  area  of  a  "city  square";  while  every  possible 
variety  of  vegetation,  in  exaggerated  proportions,  crowds  all  available  space.  Parasites 


THE  LAND   OF  ORANGE-GROVES.  431 

fasten  upon  projecting  limbs,  and  increase  the  variety  of  foliage.  Vines,  with  trunks 
a  foot  in  diameter,  like  huge  serpents,  seem  to  have  sprung  with  one  leap  fifty  feet 
into  the  air,  and  then  grasped  in  their  constrictor  folds  the  forest  giants,  which  under 
the  pressure  struggle  almost  hopelessly  to  retain  their  vitality. 

But  the  great  feature  of  these  Everglades  is  exhibited  in  the  countless  variety  of 
the  feathered  tribe.  Myriads  of  cormorants  constantly  disturb  the  surface  of  the  water. 
The  scarlet  ibis,  the  gayly-decked  wood-duck,  the  beautiful  mallard,  the  gigantic  blue 
heron,  the  delicate  song-bird,  and  imperial  eagles,  are  constantly  in  sight,  mingling 
their  discordant  voices  and  the  shrill  sounds  of  their  whistling  wings,  suggesting  a 
profuseness  of  animal  life  that  rivals  that  of  the  vegetable  world. 

The  deer,  most  favorably  situated  for  supplying  itself  with  food,  and  thoroughly 
protected  from  the  deadly  pursuit  of  man,  grows  larger  than  elsewhere  on  the  con- 
tinent, and,  as  a  permitted  monarch  of  the  wastes,  breaks  through  the  tangled  foliage 
which  lines  the  banks  of  the  inland  lakes,  and  with  the  aquatic  inhabitants  enjoys  the 
luxury  of  bathing  in  the  pure  water,  a  taste  which  the  graceful  animal  seems  to  in- 
dulge even  to  excess. 

The  sun  seems  ever  to  shine  with  the  intensest  brilliancy.  Oppressive,  however, 
as  may  be  the  heat,  the  cool  sea-breezes  of  the  Mexican  Gulf  constantly  temper  the 
atmosphere,  and  produce  a  geniality  of  climate  that  can  only  be  understood  by  realiza- 
tion. But,  under  the  influence  of  this  germinating  heat,  the  rapid  growth  of  the 
vegetation  seems  unbounded,  and  ever  full  of  the  vigor  of  youth.  There  is  no  evi- 
dence of  decay  anywhere.  The  frosts  which  make  the  Northern  forests  in  the  fall 
mottled  with  gay  colors  never  garnish  these  Southern  landscapes  ;  all  is  one  intense 
but  ever-varying  green. 


A  Glimpse  of  iht  Rocky  Mountains. 


COLORADO. 

The  mountains  of  Colorado — The  city  of  Denver — Boulder  Canon — Mountain  mining  cities — Idaho  Springs  and 
Georgetown— The  ascent  of  Gray's  Peak— Monument  Park  and  the  Garden  of  the  Gods — Colorado  Springs  and 
Pike's  Peak-»-The  natural  parks  and  their  characteristics. 

No  State  in  the  Union  is  a  richer  treasury  of  great  natural  wonders,  of  scenery 
both  picturesque  and  sublime,  as  well  as  of  the  more  material  wealth  of  gold  and  sil- 
ver, than  the  interesting  State  of  Colorado,  which  has  of  recent  years  been  the  cyno- 
sure of  attention  on  the  part  of  the  mining  world. 

The  State  has  on  its  north  Wyoming  Territory  and  Nebraska ;  on  the  east  Ne- 
braska and  Kansas ;  on  the  south  Indian  Territory  and  New  Mexico  ;  and  on  the 
west  Utah.  Its  area  of  nearly  one  hundred  and  five  thousand  square  miles  may  be 
separated  into  three  natural  divisions :  its  mountain  -  range,  including  the  natural 


COLORADO.  433 

parks,  its  foot-hills,  and  the  plains.  It  is,  of  course,  in  its  mountains  that  the  car- 
dinal attraction  of  Colorado  scenery,  as  weir  as  of  its  industrial  interests  of  gold  and 
silver,  lies.  Without  attempting  to  enter  into  any  elaborate  description  of  the  extraor- 
dinary features  of  the  whole  State,  it  is  our  hope  to  present  some  vivid  idea  of  the 
more  characteristic  phases  of  Colorado  scenery. 

Let  us  take  the  Denver  Pacific  Railway  from  Cheyenne,  one  of  the  stations  on  the 
Union  Pacific  road.  Between  Cheyenne  and  Pueblo,  a  town  in  Southern  Colorado, 
two  hundred  and  twenty  miles  distant,  the  Rocky  Mountains  reach  their  greatest 
height  in  their  whole  length  from  the  Arctic  Circle  to  Central  America.  From  almost 
any  peak  hundreds  of  other  peaks  can  be  seen,  all  more  than  ten  thousand  and  some 
fourteen  thousand  feet  in  height.  The  highest  and  best  known  are  Long's,  Gray's, 
and  Pike's,  the  former  being  farthest  north,  and  the  latter  farthest  south.  Of  the 
view  from  Mount  Lincoln,  which  is  southwest  from  Cheyenne,  a  well-known  geolo- 
gist, Mr.  Clarence  King,  writes  : 

"  To  the  east,  far  distant,  is  distinctly  seen  Pike's  Peak,  with  the  continuous 
ranges  which  extend  northward  to  Long's  Peak.  On  the  west  and  northwest  is  a 
vast  group  of  high  mountains,  gashed  down  on  every  side  with  deep  vertical  gorges. 
To  the  southward  can  be  seen  the  granite  nucleus  of  a  remarkable  range  of  mount- 
ains, the  Sawatch,  which,  with  its  lofty  peaks,  among  them  Mounts  Yale  and  Har- 
vard, looms  up  like  a  massive  wall  with  a  wilderness  of  conical  peaks  along  its  sum- 
mit— more  than  fifty  of  them  rising  to  an  elevation  of  thirteen  thousand  feet  and 
over,  and  more  than  two  hundred  rising  to  twelve  thousand  feet  and  over.  Probably 
there  is  no  other  part  of  the  world  accessible  to  the  traveling  public  where  such  a 
wilderness  of  lofty  peaks  can  be  seen  within  a  single  scope  of  vision." 

A  thrill  of  vivid  delight  passes  through  the  mind  as  we  gaze  for  the  first  time 
upon  these  famous  mountains ;  but  the  dusty,  arid  plain  tends  to  create  a  feeling 
of  disgust  which  the  rapture  of  the  distant  mountain  vision  can  not  entirely  dispel. 
The  main  portion  of  the  route  of  the  railroad  as  far  as  Denver  is  through  a  plain 
with  mountains  on  the  western  horizon.  One  of  the  towns  on  the  route,  Greeley, 
named  after  and  planted  under  the  auspices  of  the  celebrated  editor,  is  a  flourishing 
little  place  on  the  Cache  la  Poudre  River,  and  is  distinguished  from  other  similar 
Western  towns  by  the  fact  that  intoxicating  drinks  are  not  allowed  to  be  sold  ;  and 
the  result  is,  that  it  has  never  been  the  rendezvous  of  those  roughs  and  rowdies  who 
have  contributed  to  the  disturbance  of  many  a  frontier  town,  and  caused  the  Eastern 
man  to  fancy  that  he  had  dropped  into  a  place  freshly  transplanted  from  the  infernal 
regions.  Not  far  from  Greeley  is  Glen  Doe,  a  beautiful  valley,  inclosed  by  high  bluffs 
and  dense  woods  of  hemlock,  fir,  pine,  and  larch,  which  veil  the  hill-sides  in  their  som- 
ber foliage,  except  where  a  mass  of  naked  granite  or  basalt  juts  out  with  a  storm- 
beaten  and  sand-sculptured  face. 

Most  of  our  readers  know  something  of  the  sand-blast  machine,  by  which  a  stream 
of  sand  is  poured  against  glass  and  made  to  emboss  and  cut  it  in  any  figure  to  suit 
the  workmen.  Just  so  the  great  wind-storms  in  different  parts  of  the  West  carry 

28 


434 


OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 


streams  of  sand  against  the 
rocks  and  mountain  -  faces, 
cutting  and  carving  them 
into  the  most  grotesque  and 
striking  shapes. 

•There  are  many  pictrr- 
esque  scenes  in  this  Ticinity. 
The  twin  peaks  of  Long's 
rise  clearly  and  majestically 
in  the  air,  and  invite  an  as- 
cent which  all  the  tourists 
who  see  the  best  of  Colorado 

are  disposed  to  make.  This  ascent  is  generally  made  from  Estes  Park,  from  which 
some  lovely  views  of  the  mountain  are  obtained,  excelled  only  by  those  near  Lily 
Pond,  a  lake  about  a  mile  in  diameter,  with  a  surface  like  a  mirror,  and  borders  of 
profuse  wild-flowers. 

When  we  arrive  at  Denver  we  find  a  flourishing  city  standing  in  the  open  plain, 
thirteen  miles  from  the  Rocky  Mountains,  of  which  it  commands  a  grand  and  beauti- 
ful view.  Through  the  clear  mountain  air  may  be  seen  the  imposing  forms  of  Pike's 


GUn  Dot. 


COLORADO. 


435 


and  Long's  Peaks,  and  the  snow- 
capped range  extending  for  two 
hundred  miles,  its  rich  purple 
streaked  with  dazzling  white, 
and  here  and  there  draped  in 
soft,  transparent  haze.  The  city 
is  handsomely  built,  and  con- 
tains many  imposing  buildings 
and  noble  blocks.  The  five  rail- 
ways radiating  from  it  afford 
access  to  all  parts  of  the  State, 
and  the  city  is  alive  with  energy 
and  business  enterprise.  There 
are  numerous  hotels,  many  hand- 
some commercial  structures,  fine 
churches  and  banks,  several  the- 
atres, and  large  manufactories 
and  breweries.  At  the  United 
States  Mint  bullion  is  melted 
and  assayed,  and  returned  to 
depositors  in  the  form  of  bars 
with  the  weight  and  fineness 
stamped  on  them.  The  popu- 
lation of  this  thriving  city  is 
nearly  thirty-six  thousand,  and 
it  is  am  ually  visited  by  great 
numbers  of  tourists,  who  make 
Denver  their  starting-point  for 
trips  to  different  parts  of  the 
State,  for  one  traveling  blindly 
from  this  center  can  hardly  go 
amiss  in  his  search  for  the 
beautiful  and  picturesque. 

First  let  us  visit  the  cele- 
brated Boulder  Caflons,  one  of 
the  most  interesting  portions  of 
Colorado.  We  leave  Denver  by 
the  Colorado  Central  road,  and, 

proceeding  westward  sixteen  miles,  reach  the  little  town  of  Golden,  situated  between 
two  picturesque  hills  and  the  North  and  South  Table  Mountains.  We  may  readily 
conjecture  from  its  name  that  it  is  the  center  of  an  extensive  mining-region.  Twenty- 
four  miles  farther  of  railway-travel  on  the  same  road  in  a  northerly  direction  brings 


436  OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 

us  to  the  town  of  Boulder.  A  wagon-road  leads  up  the  caflon,  which  is  a  stupend- 
ous mountain-gorge  seventeen  miles  long,  with  walls  of  solid  rock  in  many  places 
three  thousand  feet  high.  A  brawling  stream  rushes  down  the  center  of  the  ravine, 
broken  in  its  course  by  clumsy  rocks  and  the  fallen  trunks  of  trees  that  have  been 
wrenched  from  the  sparse  soil  and  moss  in  the  crevices.  This  colossal  ravine  is  di- 
vided into  North,  Middle,  and  South  Boulder  Caflons.  In  all  of  them  are  abrupt  walls, 
diverging  in  some  instances  not  more  than  a  few  feet  in  a  thousand  from  a  vertical 
line — walls  of  basalt  and  granite  often  richly  colored,  lifted  from  the  narrow  bed  of 
a  stream  to  awful  heights,  and  sometimes  split  by  cross-chasms,  into  which  a  ray  of 
sunlight  never  by  any  chance  creeps.  Sometimes  the  cliffs  overarch  and  form  a 
tunnel,  and  again  they  widen  into  a  pretty  valley.  At  the  juncture  of  the  Nortli 
and  Middle  Caflons  a  cascade  pours  its  avalanche  of  water  over  a  ledge  sixty  feet 
high,  and  hanging  over  the  spot  is  an  immense  dome-shaped  cliff  of  barren  rock. 
This  dome  is  a  mighty  column  of  crystallized  granite,  four  hundred  feet  high,  and  it 
sparkles  in  the  sunlight  as  if  set  with  a  million  diamonds.  On  the  eastern  side  you 
find  a  recess  not  unlike  a  piazza,  which  affords  protection  against  the  passing  storm. 
Quaint  and  wonderful  forms,  worked  out  by  the  force  of  wind  and  water,  startle  your 
fancy  with  the  oddest  suggestions,  for  the  likeness  of  almost  every  bird  and  beast, 
of  temples,  palaces,  and  churches,  can  easily  be  found  in  these  gigantic  carvings  of 
Nature. 

Located  in  these  mountains  are  a  number  of  mushroom  mining-towns,  full  of  inter- 
est not  only  on  account  of  the  industry  which  gives  them  excuse  for  being,  but  on 
account  of  the  strange  types  of  life  you  meet  in  them,  ranging  from  the  fierce  ruffian, 
who  goes  armed,  with  the  butt  of  a  revolver  sticking  ominously  out  of  each  boot,  and 
ready  to  shoot  any  one  at  sight  who  looks  askant  at  him,  to  the  most  refined  men 
and  women.  A  string  of  village-cities  are  thus  rooted  in  the  mountain-sides,  and  their 
inhabitants  burrow  into  the  rocks  with  furious  zeal  for  gold  and  silver.  Central  City, 
Black  Hawk,  Mountain,  and  Nevada,  rise  on  successive  planes  of  height,  and  present 
types  of  town  life  utterly  strange  to  one  only  accustomed  to  the  orderly  and  conven- 
tional ways  of  Eastern  cities. 

Returning  again  to  Golden,  we  take  the  Central  City  Branch,  which  diverges  from 
the  main  line  of  the  Colorado  Central  and  passes  in  a  westerly  direction  up  through 
Clear  Creek  Caflon,  one  of  the  most  wild  and  picturesque  localities  on  the  continent. 
All  the  peculiar  features  of  a  gold-mining  region  are  seen.  Little  water-courses,  in 
board  troughs,  run  upon  stilts  in  various  directions ;  all  sorts  of  water-wheels,  in  every 
state  of  dilapidation,  abound  ;  and  the  hills  on  every  side  are  broken  with  the  mouths 
of  tunnels  and  deserted  shafts.  Here  and  there  the  bottom  of  the  ravine  is  choked 
up  with  mills,  furnaces,  and  other  buildings,  which  stand  among  the  rocks,  and  are 
seemingly  perched  on  impassable  places.  The  history  of  one  of  these  mines,  says  an 
entertaining  writer,  may  be  traced  thus  :  The  formation,  or  country  rock,  is  a  com- 
mon gneiss,  apparently  of  the  Laurentian  age  ;  a  vein  or  lode  in  it  is  found  exhibiting 
"blossom-rock,"  a  yellow,  spongy  mass,  charged  with  iron-rust  formed  by  the  oxida- 


COLORADO. 


437 


MoittU  of  South  BftuldKr  Canon.. 

tion  of  the  pyrites.     The  discoverer  stakes  out  his  claim,  and,  if  the  "dirt  pans  well," 
the  rest  of   the  lode  is  soon  taken  up.      At  length  the  "top  quartz"  or  blossom-rock 


438 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


is  worked  out,  and  even  iron  mortar  and  pestle  fail  to  pulverize  sufficient  of  the  now 
hard  and  refractory  ore  to  pay  the  prospector  for  his  trouble.  Water,  too,  invades 
the  mine  and  drives  him  out. 

Now  comes  another  phase  :  either  the  claim-owners  effect  a  union — a  mining  com- 
pany being  formed — or  the  capitalist  steps  in  and  purchases.     Lumber  and  machinery 


; 


Etmldtr  Kirar. 

are  then  brought  over  the  mountains  :  presently  buildings  appear,  and  true  mining  is 
begun.  Shafts  are  sunk  ;  levels,  drains,  and  tunnels  made  out :  and  the  ore  is  put 
through  a  "stamp-mill." 

The  product  of  the  mill  would  not  readily  unite  with  pure  mercury.  It  issues 
from  beneath  the  heavy  stamps  in  a  grayish,  sparkling,  thin  mud,  and,  flowing  over 
gently  inclined  sheets  of  amalgamated  copper,  bright  with  quicksilver,  passes  off  under 
the  name  of  "  tailings/'  leaving  the  gold-dust  amalgamated  and  fixed  to  the  wide 


COLORADO. 


439 


copper  trough-plates.  From 
the  surface  of  these  plates  the 
amalgam,  thick  with  gold,  is 
wiped  at  regular  intervlas,  and 
when  sufficient  is  collected  it 
is  placed  in  a  cloth,  the  ends 
of  which  are  gathered  togeth- 
er and  twisted.  Upon  squeez- 
ing the  bag  thus  formed,  much 
of  the  mercury  passes  through 
the  pores  of  the  cloth,  while  a 
heavy,  pasty  mass  of  gold,  still 
The  Falls,  Xtjrtk  Boulder  c'unoi,.  silvered  by  mercury,  remains 

within.      This   last,   with    the 

cloth    holding   it,   is   now  placed    in  a  cast-iron  crucible,  to  which    a  flat  iron    top   is 
fastened,  a  small,   bent  pipe   passing  out  of   the  center  and   forming  the  neck  of  the 


440 


OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 


retort.  When  heat  is  applied 
to  this  the  mercury  is  expelled 
and  collected  under  water  at 
the  edge  of  the  tube  for  fut- 
ure use.  The  gold  remaining 
in  the  cloth  is  burned  out, 
and,  if  the  heat  be  not  of  a 
degree  sufficient  to  melt  it,  it 
retains  the  impression  of  the 
cloth  in  its  folds,  seams,  and 
texture,  and  in  this  condition 
is  deposited  with  the  banks. 
Idaho  Springs,  some  thirty- 
five  miles  from  Denver,  on  the 

line  of  the  Colorado  Central  Railway,  is  beautifully  located,  and  is  celebrated  for  its 
hot-soda  springs,  which  will  probably,  by-and-by,  make  the  place  a  famous  resort.    The 


Midd((  BmMtr 


COLORADO.  441 

temperature  of  the  springs  ranges  from  80°  to  113°  Fahr.,  and  these  vary  only  two  or 
three  degrees  during  the  different  seasons.  A  large  swimming-bath  gives  opportunity 
for  pleasant  exercise  and  the  absorption  of  the  soda,  lime,  magnesia,  and  iron  with  which 
the  waters  are  charged.  You  speedily  find  out  that,  if  soda-water  is  good  to  drink,  it 
is  still  more  delightful  to  bathe  in.  As  a  mining  locality  Idaho  has  passed  its  glory, 
but,  as  a  health  resort,  it  is  continually  increasing  in  popularity,  for  these  chemical 
springs  are  almost  a  specific  in  many  diseases.  The  locality  is  surrounded  by  romantic 
scenery,  embodying  ravine,  mountain,  lake,  and  valley.  A  lofty  ridge  of  peaks  forms 
the  southward  picture,  with  the  Old  Chief,  Squaw,  and  Papoose  Mountains  especially 
prominent.  Sixteen  miles  away  are  the  Chicago  Lakes,  in  the  neighborhood  of  which 
Bierstadt  found  the  inspiration  that  expressed  itself  in  one  of  his  most  popular  works 
— "The  Storm  in  the  Kocky  Mountains."  They  are  the  most  picturesque  sheets  of 
water  in  Colorado,  and  are  embosomed  on  the  slopes  of  Mount  Rosalie,  at  a  height 
of  eleven  thousand  nine  hundred  and  ninety-five  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea,  and 
twenty-two  hundred  feet  below  the  summit  of  the  peak.  Georgetown  and  Idaho 
Springs  are  equidistant  from  them,  and,  though  the  trail  by  which  they  are  approached 
is  rough,  they  are  visited  by  many  tourists  during  the  summer  months. 

Such  Alpine  lakes  are  a  common  feature  of  the  Rocky  range.  Ten  or  twelve 
thousand  feet  above  the  sea-level,  three  or  four  thousand  feet  above  the  highest  foot- 
hills, the  mountaineer  unexpectedly  finds  them  glittering  in  marshy  basins,  fed  by  a 
hundred  streamlets  of  freshly  melted  snows — at  night  crusted,  even  in  midsummer, 
with  a  thin  ice  that  yields  as  the  day  warms,  and  admits  the  vision  into  twelve  or 
fifteen  feet  of  dazzlingly  pure,  bluish  water,  with  a  bright-yellow  bottom.  The  snow 
presses  on  the  margin,  and  from  this  white  and  chilly  bed  a  lovely  variety  of  delicately 
formed  flowers  spring,  whose  colors  are  only  rivaled  by  the  splendors  of  the  speckled 
trout  which  shoot  through  the  sapphire  depths. 

As  we  ascend  by  the  railway  from  Idaho  to  Georgetown  the  scenery  becomes  in- 
creasingly bold  and  striking.  There  are  no  abrupt  rising  peaks  or  glaciers,  only  huge 
mountains,  grand  masses,  an  endless  sweeping  sea  of  giant  forms,  that  gather  cloud 
and  reflect  sunshine,  forming  gloomy  depths  and  radiant  heights  ;  broad  parks,  rushing 
streams,  and  mirror-like  lakes,  which  reflect  the  azure  and  gold  of  the  skies.  We 
wind  in  and  out  along  the  stream,  between  huge  rocks  and  mountain-piles,  looking 
through  suggestive  vistas,  and  up  rugged  canons,  the  mountains  gathering  closer  and 
closer  till  we  reach  Georgetown. 

This  interesting  town,  lying  in  the  lap  of  the  mountains,  is  considerably  more 
than  eight  thousand  feet  above  the  sea-level — loftier  than  even  the  Hospice  of  Mont 
St.  Bernard — the  most  elevated  town  in  the  world.  The  mountains  are  steep  and 
high,  but  have  been  stripped  bare  of  their  forests  by  fire,  from  which  the  town  itself 
has  suffered.  You  can  still  see  traces  of  the  havoc  made  by  the  wind  where  houses 
are  blown  over  as  if  they  were  children's  mimic  structures  of  card-board,  and  whole 
squares  made  desolate.  This  will  account  for  the  singular  way  in  which  some  of  the 
houses,  in  exposed  places,  are  anchored  with  iron  ropes  or  braced  by  heavy  timbers. 


442 


OUR  XATIVE  LAND. 


It  is  a  strange,  desultory  place  :  you  don't  know  when  you  are  keeping  the  main 
street  or  investigating  the  mysteries  of  some  one's  back  alley ;  houses  endwise,  cross- 
wise, corner-wise,  any  way  to  meet  the  demands  of  strength  and  convenience.  But 
Georgetown  has  many  fine  buildings  as  well  as  these  crazy  structures — schools,  churches, 
newspaper-offices,  hotels,  banks,  and  fine  private  residences.  Be  it  said,  to  the  honor 
of  the  people,  who  are  as  orderly  and  exemplary  as  any  found  in  New  England,  that 
they  have  made  it  as  difficult  to  buy  intoxicating  liquors  on  Sunday  as  if  the  most 
stringent  Maine  law  were  in  force. 

The  ore-veins  are  nearly  perpendicular,  sometimes  with   more  than  fifty  feet  be- 
tween  them,    and    ranging  from   what  are  called    knife-blade  seams  to   fifty  feet  in 


.->'_•*«    -^V 


Idaho  Springs. 


thickness,  or  more.  A  tunnel  driven  into  the  side  of  the  mountain  will  therefore 
pass  through  seam  after  seam.  When  one  of  sufficient  richness  is  reached,  the  miner 
at  once  records  his  claim,  which  is  considered  valid,  and  he  is  entitled  to  work  seven 
hundred  feet  each  way  from  the  point  where  the  tunnel  enters.  These  veins  can  be 
detected,  where  they  come  to  the  surface,  by  what  is  called  "blossom-rock,"  and  the 
expert  recognizes  instantly  the  presence  of  the  ore.  When  it  is  discovered  that  a 
vein  is  being  worked  through  a  tunnel  which  is  claimed  at  the  surface,  a  bargain  is 
made  by  which  the  borer  is  allowed  to  work  the  claim  on  shares.  Many  of  these 
claims  are  owned  by  companies,  others  by  individuals,  who  in  early  times  were  wont 


COLORADO. 


443 


to  back  the  ore  to  the  mill  in  loads  of  from  one  to  two  hundred  pounds.  Often  you 
will  see  a  string  of  jacks,  as  the  mules  are  called,  winding  along  through  the  most 
inaccessible  parts  of  the  mountains,  bringing  down  the  crude  ore,  or  returning  loaded 


Georgetown. 

with  picks,  barrows,  and  other  mining  implements,  or  stores  for  the  miner,  whose 
shanty  may  be  seen  perched  high  up  among  the  cliffs,  with  not  even  a  potato-patch 
to  while  away  his  spare  hours. 

There  are  many  romantic  spots  in  the  vicinity,  deep  gorges  and  ravines  intersect- 
ing the  mountains  in  every  direction.  Just  above  the  city  is  the  famous  Devil's  Gate, 
a  deep  chasm,  cliff-walled,  through  which  a  branch  of  the  Clear  Creek  foams  and 
leaps.  Green  Lake  is  another  attractive  resort,  two  and  a  half  miles  distant.  The 
water  is  so  crystal  clear  that  objects  eighty  feet  below  the  surface  may  be  distinctly 
seen,  though  the  color  is  bright  green.  A  dense  growth  of  pines  fringes  the  edges, 
and  innumerable  peaks  cluster  around,  their  snows  sometimes  seeming  to  be  reclining 
by  the  lowering  clouds  that  sweep  over  them. 


444 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


From  Georgetown  the  tourist  finds  a  convenient  approach  for  the  ascent  of  Gray's 
Peak,  the  highest  mountain  of  the  range,  its  top  being  14,251  feet  above  the  sea- 
level.  The  road  winds  westward  and  upwaul  out  of  the  town  until  wide  fields  of 
snow  are  reached.  This  is  in  October ;  earlier  in  the  season  little  snow  is  seen.  The 
groves  of  aspen  are  left  far  below,  and  tall,  majestic  pines,  gleaming  silver-firs,  and 
the  slender,  graceful  Douglass  spruces  appear.  An  extensive  upland  valley  opens  to 


Clear  Creelc,  below  Georgetown. 

the  mountaineers  as  the  forest  grows  thinner  and  the  trees  smaller.  To  the  left,  sheer 
and  rugged,  rises  Mount  McClellan,  and  at  the  height  of  twelve  thousand  feet  the 
Stevens  Silver-Mine  is  passed.  Now  the  timber-line  is  gained,  and  the  forest  ceases, 
reaching  forward  in  short  strips,  like  courageous,  undaunted  squads  of  infantry.  How- 
wonderful  a  war  between  natural  forces — how  obstinate  the  contest  where  they  meet ! 
The  few  daring  trees  that  stand  forth  higher  on  the  mountain  than  their  fellows  have 
been  seized  by  some  strong,  invisible  power  and  tAvisted  and  contorted  almost  to 


COLORADO. 


445 


Green  Lake. 

death.  Their  tops  resemble  dry  and  weather-beaten  roots,  and  all  their  vitality  is 
near  the  ground,  where  some  branches  creep  out  horizontally,  groveling  to  obtain  the 
growth  and  breadth  denied  to  them  above. 

The  valley  finally  closes  in,  and  the  twin  peaks  of  Gray's  impend — the  nearer  one 
dark,  stern,  and  precipitous  ;  the  other  still  far  off,  soft  in  outline,  and  sloping  easily 
down  to  a  great  bed  of  ice  and  snow — the  hidden,  shadow-loving  remnant  of  a  glacier. 

Another  half-hour  of  climbing  brings  the  jaded  explorers  to  a  precipice,  with 
deep  drifts  surrounding  it.  The  soft  new  snow  of  unknown  depth  looks  treacherously 
calm  and  beautiful,  and  where  it  meets  the  opposite  mountain-wall  has  the  aspect  of 
a  neve  glacier,  upholding  fallen  bowlders,  and  scored  with  a  long  drift  of  rock  and 
gravel  cast  down  from  overhanging  cliffs.  The  precipice  itself  descends  six  hundred 
feet  or  more,  and  is  terribly  dark  and  dizzy. 

This  passed,  a  long,  steep  slope  of  snow-clad  rocks  rises  before  the  traveler,  and 
a  narrow  trail,  winding  in  short,  precarious  zigzags  on  its  face,  leads  to  the  summit. 


446  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

It  now  becomes  necessary  to  leave  the  horses  and  go  afoot.  By-aud-by,  with  the 
exercise  of  desperate  exertions,  the  summit  of  the  nearer  peak  is  attained. 

From  the  journal  of  one  who  made  the  ascent  of  Gray's  Peak  we  take  the  follow- 
ing extract :  "  Who  can  describe  adequately  the  wonders  of  that  mountain-summit  ? 
They  had  told  us  we  would  see  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  earth  spread  before  us,  but 
moving  cloud-curtains  obscured  that  grand  panorama  of  parks,  mountains,  plains,  and 
far,  far  away  over  that  billowy  sea  of  stormy  mountain-tops,  the  Wahsatch  Range,  and 
Salt  Lake.  These  we  had  to  take  on  faith,  like  the  future  glories ;  but  how  much 
had  we  here  that  was  sublime  !  Deep,  deep  through  that  mysterious  gloom  came  dim 
glimpses  of  the  South  Park — only  a  suggestion,  the  imagination  had  to  furnish  all 
the  rest ;  here  rippled  from  beneath  us  streams  tributary  to  Platte  River,  and  event- 
ually finding  the  waters  of  the  Gulf  of  Mexico ;  there  the  sources  of  Snake  River, 
whose  waters  mingle  at  last  with  the  Pacific.  On  one  side  black  clouds  swept  down 
into  an  unfathomable  gulf,  making  its  crags  resound  with  the  noise  of  their  thunders, 
while  just  beyond  rose  majestic  snow-caps,  radiant  in  the  noonday  sun.  Towering 
heights,  profound  abysses,  with  snow  and  rain,  thunder  and  lightning,  cloud  and  sun- 
shine, were  the  elements  that  made  up  this  impressive  scene,  or  rather  series  of 
scenes.  Could  we  have  had  more  ?  Would  not  the  eye  have  wearied  and  the  sense 
refused  to  grasp  the  magnitude  of  an  unobstructed  view  ?  We  were  satisfied  as  it 
was,  and  now,  cold  and  wet,  retraced  our  steps  down  the  mountain. 

"B and  I  having  started  before  the  others,  reached  the  bottom  first,  quite 

demoralized.  Surely  all  our  horses  had  been  lariated  together !  there  were  only  three 
remaining  now — where  were  the  others  ?  not  in  sight,  that  was  certain.  We  held  a 
short  council ;  we  were  wet  and  cold,  it  wouldn't  do  to  sit  there.  It  so  happened 
that  our  horses  were  the  remaining  ones ;  the  guide  was  with  the  others,  so  we  deter- 
mined to  press  on  and  perhaps  overhaul  the  runaways.  A  couple  of  miles  down  the 
mountain,  and  in  the  edge  of  the  timber,  we  found  them  quietly  cropping  the  grass, 
with  no  disposition  whatever  to  be  caught.  However,  after  a  good  chase,  and  a  thor- 
ough warming  in  consequence,  we  succeeded  in  capturing  the  three  vagrants,  and 
dragged  them  reluctantly  back  up  the  mountain.  The  others  had  piled  all  the  sad- 
dles and  traps  on  the  one  remaining  horse,  and,  it  may  be  easily  imagined,  were  a 
dejected-looking  party  in  view  of  a  walk  of  six  miles  farther  to  the  nearest  house, 
after  human  flesh  had  done  all  it  was  capable  of  doing.  It  may  be  also  easily  imag- 
ined that  there  was  a  shout  of  joy  passed  from  one  to  another — wading  as  they  were 
through  the  snow  and  wet — when  we  hove  in  sight.  Be  sure  there  was  no  time  lost 
in  adjusting  saddles  and  bridles,  and  getting  fairly  started  on  our  homeward  way. 
The  calculation  was  beautifully  exact ;  the  last,  atom  of  strength  gave  out  as  the  last 
rod  was  accomplished.  Too  tired  to  eat,  I  sought  relief  in  sleep,  and  got  that  only 
by  virtue  of  a  potent  medicament  which  one  of  my  fellow-sufferers  dispensed  to  me. 
And  so  ended  our  trip  to  the  highest  peak  in  Colorado." 

Returning  again  to  Denver,  let  us  proceed  by  the  Denver  and  Rio  Grande  Railway 
to  Colorado  Spring.*,  a  town  seventy-six  miles  from  Denver  directly  south.  Six  miles 


COLORADO. 


447 


Gray's  P&tk. 

from  this  point  are  Manitou  Springs,  whence  several  very  fascinating  excursions  may 
be  made  to  the  Garden  of  the  Gods,  Glen  Eyrie,  Monument  Park,  Cheyenne  Canon, 
and  to  the  summit  of  Pike's  Peak. 

Let  us  mount  the  coach-box  with  the  driver  of  the  stage  and  begin  our  journey 
to  Manitou  Springs.  On  the  way  we  pass  Colorado  City,  the  oldest  city  in  the  State, 
founded  by  the  gold-seekers  of  1858,  but  which  soon  faded  into  insignificance  before 


448 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


the  greater  discoveries  of  mineral  wealth  in  other  places.  Just  before  reaching  Maui- 
tou  we  find  ourselves  apparently  at  the  base  of  Pike's  Peak,  though  the  summit  is  still 
far  off.  Eastward  we  look  on  the  arid  plains,  stretching  out  with  unbroken  monot- 
ony of  form  and  color  in  the  vague  distance.  Westward  the  settlement  creeps  up  to 
the  portals  of  Ute  Pass,  which  with  its  frowning  steeps  of  rock  leads  to  the  treasure- 
mines  of  the  upper  Arkansas  and  the  Red  San  Juan. 

Manitou  Springs  is  as  lively  as  an  Eastern  watering-place,  and  in  the  season  has 
the  usual  round  of  summer-place  gayeties.  There  are  three  handsome  "hotels  to  choose 
from,  and  several  medicinal  springs,  with  a  temperature  varying  from  45°  to  60°,  in- 


Snake  River. 

closed  in  tasteful  pavilions  and  surrounded  by  pretty  cottages.  The  first  spring  is 
close  to  the  road,  and  the  violent  bubbling  of  the  water  seems  to  indicate  a  large 
supply,  though  there  is  hardly  a  gallon  a  minute.  About  a  hundred  yards  above,  on 
the  right-hand  side  of  the  creek,  is  another  and  larger  spring,  which  gushes  out  of 
the  rock  with  great  turbulence. 

Sulphur,  iron,  soda,  arsenic,  and  other  health  -  giving  ingredients,  are  cunningly 
compounded  by  Nature  in  these  fountains,  which  boil  and  bubble  up  as  if  expelled 
from  the  earth  by  the  tremendous  weight  and  pressure  of  Pike's  Peak.  The  shadow 
of  this  mountain  monarch  falls  on  them  every  day  after  four  o'clock,  and  cool  breezes. 


COLORADO. 


449 


aa  refreshing  as  the  waters  themselves,  fan  the  cheek  of  the  invalid,  and  paint  the  face 
of  strength  and  beauty  with  a   fresher  color.      Saratoga  and  Virginia  watering-places 


29 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


f*«! 
:fcs? . 


have  no  such   attractions  as 
those  proffered  by  this  noble 
mountain  fastness.     Properly 
enough,  the  Indians  gave  the 
name  of  Manitou  to  these  de- 
licious health-giving,  bubbling 
fountains,  and    here  they  de- 
posited   their    most   valuable 
offerings  to  Deity.     Even  yet 
arrow-heads,  beads,  and  other 
Indian  trinkets,  are  forced  up 
by    the    boiling   waters,    and 
found  in  the  stream  below. 
The   neighborhood    of    Manitou    is   exceedingly    interesting,    and    comprehends   all 
varieties  of   scenery.      A    day's   excursion   allows  the   tourist   time    for   the    ascent   of 
Pike's  Peak,  on  the  topmost  pinnacle  of  which  he  may  stand,  and  let  his  heart  fill 


fibers  Peak,  from  the  Garden  of  the  Gods* 


COLORADO.  451 

with  the  emotion  that  the  majestic  outlook  is  sure  to  inspire  ;  on  the  silent  billows 
of  the  plains,  and  the  chaotic,  gashed,  and  knife-like  peaks,  before  whose  feet  these 
endless  yellow  waves  have  ceased  to  beat,  like  an  eager  living  creature  struck  with 
despair.  The  sky  itself  seems  to  be  attained,  as  ascending  the  trail  on  the  mountain- 
side we  glance  through  a  clearing  in  the  timber  on  the  gorges  far  below.  The  pines 
and  firs  sway  to  and  fro  tempestuously  with  the  roar  of  a  great  water-fall.  The  frail 
human  body  quivers  and  labors  as  the  thin,  crisp  air  strains  the  exhausted  lungs. 
But  what  struggle,  what  hazard,  what  cost,  is  not  repaid  when  the  path  makes  its 
last  curve,  and  leads  to  one  of  the  grandest  summits  in  all  the  Eocky  range  !  Here 
on  the  very  top  we  find  a  station  of  the  Weather  Signal  Bureau,  which  is  occupied 
summer  and  winter. 

The  surveyors  have  shown  us  that  the  elevation  of  Pike's  Peak  is  not  so  great  as 
that  of  Gray's  or  Long's,  but  it  seems  to  be  higher,  as  it  stands  out  alone  and  sweeps 
upward  from  the  foot-hills  to  a  crystalline  pinnacle,  14,147  feet  above  the  level  of  the 
sea.  It  is  visible  miles  and  miles  away  over  the  plains.  The  immigrants  of  old  saw 
it  long  before  its  companions  appeared  above  the  horizon,  and  they  gathered  fresh 
courage  as  the  blazing  sun  lit  its  tempest-torn  granite  into  a  pillar  of  gold.  As  far 
north  as  Cheyenne,  and  as  far  south  as  Trinidad,  on  the  borders  of  New  Mexico,  it 
can  still  be  seen,  its  boldness  subdued  in  the  gray  of  the  distance  ;  and,  as  we  glance 
at  it  through  lapses  in  the  hills  at  its  base,  from  the  windows  of  the  car,  we  seem  to 
be  under  its  very  shadow,  when  it  is  in  reality  thirty  or  forty  miles  off. 

A  few  miles  from  Manitou  is  Cheyenne  Caflon,  lying  gloomily  in  the  heart  of  the 
mountains,  with  many  wonders  to  attract  the  tourist ;  and  also  within  easy  distance  is 
William's  Canon,  in  which  solid  masses  of  rock  have  yielded  to  the  action  of  the  ele- 
ments until  they  have  been  hollowed  and  broken  into  a  vivid  resemblance  of  some 
ruinous  old  castle.  Bear  Creek,  rushing  from  the  region  of  summer  snows ;  and  Ute 
Pass,  locked  between  its  walls  of  red  granite — neither  of  these,  nor  the  Garden  of  the 
Gods,  nor  Glen  Eyrie,  nor  the  Eainbow  Falls,  should  be  neglected  by  the  traveler.  A 
little  way  from  the  entrance  to  the  pass,  and  about  three  quarters  of  a  mile  from  the 
village,  the  creek  breaks  into  a  white  rage  as  it  shoots  over  a  precipice  of  sixty  feet 
in  a  foaming  avalanche  to  which  has  been  given  the  name  of  Eainbow  Falls. 

Monument  Park  is  famous  for  its  strangely  carved  sandstones.  There  are  many 
parts  of  the  Eocky  Mountain  country,  from  the  Yellowstone  in  the  far  north  to  Tierra 
Amarilla  in  New  Mexico,  which  strike  us  as  being  the  creation  and  abode  of  some 
fanciful  race  of  goblin's,  who  have  twisted  everything,  from  a  shaft  of  rock  to  an  old 
pine-tree,  into  a  whimsical  and  incredible  shapelessness.  The  sand-  and  water-worn 
rocks  impress  us  as  the  result  of  a  disordered  dream — the  strange  handiwork  of  a 
crack-brained  mason,  with  a  remembrance  of  Caliban's  island  lingering  in  his  head. 
Those  in  Monument  Park  are  ranged  in  two  rows  lengthwise  through  an  elliptical 
basin.  They  are  cones  from  twelve  to  twenty-five  feet  in  height,  and  may  be  said  to 
resemble  mushrooms  at  the  first  glance,  though  an  imaginative  person  will  soon  find 
himself  transfiguring  them  into  odd-looking  men  and  animals.  Think  of  several 


452 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


sugar-loaves,  with  plates  or  trays  balanced  on  their  peaks,  or  of  candle-extinguishers 
with  pennies  on  top,  and  you  will  obtain  an  idea  of  what  these  rock-curiosities  are. 
Each  pillar  is  capped  with  a  mixture  of  sand  and  pebbles  cemented  by  iron,  and  this 


Monument  Phrk. 

being  so  much  harder  than  the  underlying  yellow  sandstone,  has  resisted  the  wasting 
influences  of  wind  and  rain,  and  in  some  cases  extends  continuously  over  several  pil- 
lars, thus  forming  a  natural  row  of  columns. 

But  of  all  the  wonders  of  this  region  the  Garden  of  the  Gods  is  specially  worthy 
of  description.  Eunning  from  east  to  west,  almost  at  the  base  of  the  great  mountain- 
range,  on  the  eastern  side  stone  palisades  rise  upward  from  the  valley.  These  walls 
are  red,  white,  and  gray.  Their  thickness  varies  from  one  hundred  to  five  hundred 
feet,  and  their  height  from  five  hundred  upward.  Beyond  this  majestic  wall,  and 
within  a  mile  of  it,  the  mountain-range  makes  another  impassable  barrier.  Between 
this  lofty  palisade  and  the  abrupt  mountain-sides  is  the  famous  "Garden  of  the  Gods." 


COLORADO. 


453 


Through  this  great  palisade  are  gate-ways  several  miles,  apart,  the  eastern  of  which 
is  very  narrow.  The  area  of  this  first  garden  between  the  palisades  and  the  cliffs  is 
narrow,  but  the  very  wildness  of  the  place,  with  its  deep  chasms  and  lofty  sides  and 
great  stones  of  every  hue  and  shape,  amazes  the  beholder.  The  deep,  narrow  dell  is 
completely  walled  in,  and  the  little  gate- way  seems  to  have  been  designed  by  Nature 
as  a  sluice-way  for  the  mountain-torrents  to  pour  through.  A  bright,  sparkling  stream 
ripples  perpetually  from  the  second  and  larger  garden,  which  is  also  full  of  wonders. 
There  are  towering  crags  and  lofty  stones  set  up  OP  end,  some  inclined,  like  the  lean- 
ing tower  of  Pisa,  others  erect  as  Bunker  Hill  Monument,  all  rising  to  dizzy  heights, 
and  each  having  its  own  peculiar  color.  Eagles'  nests  are  visible  along  the  summit 
and  within  the  palisades,  and 
there  is  a  plateau  covered  with 
bright  undergrowth  of  flower- 
ing shrubs  and  vines.  Through 
a  deep,  narrow  gorge  flows  a 
brawling  brook,  and  along  its 
narrow  bed  we  ride  beneath 
overhanging  cliffs,  till  weary  of 
wonders  and  staring  at  amaz- 
ing precipices  and  great  rock- 
walls  shutting  out  the  sky. 

To  the  broader  garden  one 
finds  access  through  a  double 
gate-way,  which  is  called  the 
Beautiful  Gate.  This  passage- 
way is  through  two  high  pre- 
cipitous cliffs,  with  a  large  de- 
tached rock  tower  standing  in 
the  middle  and  thus  dividing 
it  in  two.  The  stone  fence  on 
either  hand  is  the  solid  pali- 
sade of  red  sandstone.  It  is 
sadly  weather-worn.  Great  fis- 
sures are  visible  from  the  gate- 
way, and  stone  pickets  a  hun- 
dred feet  long  have  fallen  to 

the  plain.  The  width  of  the  inclosure  is  not  more  than  one  mile,  while  the  stone-wall 
extends  westwardly  far  into  the  mountains.  Among  the  more  striking  rock-forms  in 
the  Garden  of  the  Gods  is  the  Tower  of  Babel ;  and  a  short  distance  away,  in  Glen 
Eyrie,  may  be  seen  equally  notable  fantasies,  one  of  which  is  called  the  Organ,  from 
its  resemblance  to  a  church-organ,  and  another  the  Major  Domo,  a  curious  and  rug- 
ged pillar  rising  to  the  height  of  one  hundred  and  twenty  feet,  though  not  more  than 


Tower  of  Sjbel,  Garden  of  the  God*. 


454 


OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 


ten  feet  in  diameter  at  the  base.  Glancing  through  the  openings  in  the  cliffs,  you  get 
a  fine  view  of  Pike's  Peak  in  all  its  hoary  splendor. 

The  longer  one  remains  in  Colorado  the  more  he  wonders  at  the  marvels  so  thickly 
strewed  around  him.     The  first  impressions  are  not  pleasant,  as  he  finds  dust,  pain- 
fully brilliant  sunshine,  scarce  vegetation,  and  bleakness.      But  the  oddness  and  sub- 
limity of   the  scenery,   so  dif- 

^7-ir-.  ferent   from    any   found    else- 

where in  the  world,  repay  him 
for  all  other  annoyances.  Five 
thousand  tourists  not  unseldom 
visit  Manitou  Springs  and  the 
Garden  of  the  Gods  in  the 
course  of  a  single  season,  and 
thence  drift  off  to  see  the  oth- 
er wonders  of  the  State. 

Cheyenne  Canon,  five  miles 
from  Colorado  Springs,  is  a 
sequestered  mountain-gorge  in 
which  are  many  striking  rock- 
formations  and  picturesque  cas- 
cades. A  tortuous  trail  leads 
from  the  mouth  of  the  canon 
three  miles  above  to  the  first 
fall,  which  is  thirty  feet  high, 
and  extremely  fine.  From  the 
ledge  above  the  fall  there  is  a 
succession  of  falls,  six  in  all, 
rising  above  one  another  at 
regular  intervals,  the  remotest 
and  highest  being  several  miles 
distant.  Another  interesting 
spot  within  an  easy  distance 

is  William's  Caflon,  in  which  solid  masses  of  rock  have  yielded  to  the  action  of  the 
elements  until  they  have  been  hollowed  out  and  molded  into  a  vivid  resemblance  of 
some  ruinous  old  castle. 

The  Denver  and  Rio  Grande  Railway,  which  comprises  more  than  twenty  branches, 
penetrates  into  nearly  every  portion  of  Western  and  Southwestern  Colorado,  and  passes 
through  the  remarkable  silver-mining  region,  which  has  produced  a  greater  excitement 
than  any  since  the  Comstock  lode,  in  Nevada,  was  in  the  height  of  its  prosperity.  The 
heart  of  this  great  Colorado  mining  region  is  the  town  of  Leadville,  now  a  city  of 
fifteen  thousand  people  and  more,  where,  in  1878,  there  were  only  a  few  tents  and 
log-houses.  Leadville  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  mining-camps,  perhaps,  in  the 


Mayor  Domo,  Glen  Eyrie. 


COLORADO.  455 

world,  and  well  worthy  the  visit  of  the  tourist  alert  to  observe  the  curious  phases  of 
nature  and  society.  From  Pueblo,  the  Leadville  division  of  the  Kio  Grande  Railroad 
runs  nearly  northwesterly  to  Canon  City,  near  which  Professor  Marsh  discovered  some 
of  the  most  remarkable  fossils  of  gigantic  extinct  animals  ever  offered  to  the  investi- 
gation of  science.  Two  miles  beyond  Canon  City  the  road  enters  the  Grand  Canon 
of  the  Arkansas,  where  the  river  has  cut  its  way  for  eight  miles  through  mountain- 
walls  of'  solid  granite,  which  in  some  places  are  three  thousand  feet  in  perpendicular 
height.  The  scenery  at  what  is  known  as  the  Royal  Gorge  is  of  the  greatest  majesty, 
and  here  the  iron  track  runs  for  several  hundred  feet  on  steel  girders  passing  from 
wall  to  wall  of  the  chasm,  the  ends  being  mortised  into  the  solid  rock. 

Leadville,  which  is  two  hundred  and  seventy-nine  miles  by  rail  from  Denver,  and 
nearly  southwest  in  direction,  already  presents  many  of  the  characteristics  of  a  place 
of  permanent  prosperity.  Situated  in  a  valley  where  the  slopes  of  several  surrounding 
hills  come  together,  many  of  the  temporary  wooden  buildings  characteristic  of  primi- 
tive places,  uncertain  of  a  future,  have  given  way  to  substantial  brick  blocks,  and 
other  similar  improvements  have  been  made.  The  mines,  many  of  which  have  yielded 
almost  fabulous  returns,  are  on  the  hills  surrounding  the  town.  It  is  believed  by 
many  geologists  now  that  the  richest  body  of  silver-ore,  which  is  of  the  kind  known 
as  carbonate,  and  is  very  easily  mined  and  smelted,  lies  immediately  under  the  city  of 
Leadville.  If  this  is  true,  it  will  make  the  place  permanently  a  great  mining  city. 
The  counties  adjoining  Lake,  in  which  Leadville  is  located,  are  also  very  fruitful  in 
silver  deposits.  What  is  known  as  the  Gunnison  country,  a  county  immediately  south 
and  west  of  Lake,  and  one  of  the  largest  in  Colorado,  has  discovered  silver-fields  of 
great  wealth.  It  is  believed,  however,  that  the  richest  mineral  deposits  in  the  region 
are  on  the  Indian  reservation  in  the  northwestern  part  of  the  county.  The  determina- 
tion of  prospectors  to  intrude  on  the  reservation  has  already  caused  serious  trouble 
with  the  Indians,  and  Congress  has  agitated  the  question  of  removing  the  savages,  in 
obedience  to  the  urgent  call  of  the  Colorado  mining  community — a  step  which,  if  taken, 
may  easily  lead  to  another  Indian  war. 

Lovers  of  the  picturesque  traveling  in  Colorado  will  find  themselves  well  repaid  by 
taking  a  journey  over  the  San  Juan  division  of  the  Denver  and  Rio  Grande  Railway. 
At  the  distance  of  eighty  miles  southwest  of  Pueblo  the  track  crosses  the  Sangre  de 
Cristo  range  by  the  La  Veta  Pass,  one  of  the  most  remarkable  gorges  in  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  at  a  height  of  9,486  feet,  amid  scenery  of  great  beauty  and  grandeur. 
The  Mule-shoe  Curve  and  the  passage  around  the  point  of  Dump  Mountain  are  re- 
garded as  among  the  most  striking  feats  of  railway  engineering  ever  attempted.  After 
passing  the  gorge,  the  traveler  is  whirled  for  seventy  miles  across  San  Luis  Park,  and 
the  scenery  continues  to  be  marked  by  the  most  impressive  beauty  and  picturesqueness. 
At  first  the  principal  objects  in  the  background  are  Sierra  Blauca,  which  is  14,564 
feet  high,  and  the  serrated  peaks  of  the  Sangre  de  Cristo  Mountains.  On  reaching  the 
western  wall  of  the  park — the  San  Juan  Mountains — the  scenery  increases  in  grandeur. 
It  reaches  its  culmination  at  the  Los  Pinos  Canon  and  the  Totter  Gorge,  which  are 


456  OUR    NATIVE  LAND. 

justly  regarded  as  ranking  among  the  most  wonderful  scenic  attractions  of  Colorado. 
For  a  distance  of  eight  miles  the  railway  passes  just  below  the  brow  of  a  precipitous 
mountain-range,  at  the  giddy  height  of  twelve  hundred  feet  above  the  stream,  follow- 
ing the  irregular  contour  of  the  mountains  through  deep  cuts  and  over  high  hills, 
past  weirdly  monumental  rocks  and  under  lofty  cliffs.  At  Phantom  Curve  the  road 
comes  to  the  end  of  a  mountain-wall  that  juts  into  the  canon,  narrowing  it  to  a  mere 


William's  Canon. 

cleft  or  gorge  fourteen  hundred  feet  high,  with  the  wall  on  the  farther  side  rising 
above  to  an  altitude  of  twenty-one  hundred  feet.  A  few  rods  from  the  gorge,  at  a 
point  where  the  passenger  looks  down  on  the  white  foam  of  the  stream  eleven  hun- 
dred feet  below,  the  railroad  enters  a  tunnel,  which  pierces  the  solid  granite  cliff  for 
a  distance  of  six  hundred  feet.  On  emerging  from  the  tunnel,  the  track  passes  over 
trestle-work  overlooking  the  precipice  that  extends  to  the  bottom  of  the  gorge — a  ter- 


COLORADO.  45? 

rible  abyss,  which  few  have  the  nerve  to  look  down  on.  All  along  this  aerial  journey 
an  extended  landscape  of  mountain  and  valley  adds  to  the  grandeur  of  the  view.  The 
terminus  of  this  division  of  the  Denver  and  Rio  Grande  road  is  Durango,  one  of  the 
principal  centers  of  the  celebrated  San  Juan  mining  region.  To  the  archaeologist,  the 
interest  of  a  journey  through  the  San  Juan  country  is  increased  by  the  fact  that  here 
are  the  wonderful  prehistoric  cliff-dwellings  on  the  Rio  Mancos,  which  have  long  ex- 
cited great  interest  and  curiosity  ;  and  also  eight  ancient  pueblos,  inhabited  by  the 
Pueblo  Indians,  whom  the  Spaniards  found  here  only  forty -eight  years  after  the  dis- 
covery of  America. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  features  of  Colorado  scenery  is  found  in  its  great 
natural  parks.  Of  these  there  are  four — North,  Middle,  South,  and  San  Luis  Parks. 
This  extraordinary  park  system  consists  of  extensive  irregular  plateaus  or  basins,  shut 
in  on  all  sides  by  lofty  mountain-ranges.  The  surface  is  diversified  by  numerous 
hills,  or  ridges,  and  valleys,  containing  streams  which  form  the  headquarters  of  all 
the  great  rivers  that  flow  out  of  Colorado.  The  valleys  are  covered  with  luxuriant 
grasses  and  flowering  plants  of  various  kinds,  and  possess  an  extremely  fertile  soil. 
The  hills  are  covered  with  dense  forests  of  pine,  abounding  in  game,  such  as  the  bear, 
elk,  and  deer,  and  contribute  extraordinary  attractions  for  the  sportsman  and  advent- 
urer. The  beds  of  the  streams  furnish  many  varieties  of  minerals  and  fossils,  and 
afford  a  remarkable  field  for  the  lovers  of  science.  Mineral  springs,  with  waters  pos- 
sessing rare  medicinal  properties,  are  numerous,  while  coal  and  salt  beds  underlie  the 
whole  surface.  The  four  great  parks  (for  there  are  lesser  parks  of  a  similar  character 
scattered  through  the  western  portion  of  the  State)  are  in  the  central  part  of  Colorado, 
and  occupy  a  belt  about  seventy  miles  wide. 

North  Park  has  an  area  of  about  twenty-five  hundred  square  miles,  and  possesses 
an  average  elevation  of  nearly  nine  thousand  feet  above  the  sea-level.  Owing  to  its 
remoteness  and  colder  climate,  it  has  been  less  visited  by  tourists  and  sportsmen, 
but,  since  the  recent  discoveries  of  gold  and  silver,  it  has  begun  to  be  the  goal  of  a 
stream  of  prospectors  and  settlers.  To  reach  this  part  of  Colorado  one  has  to  leave 
the  Colorado  Central  Railway  at  Fort  Collins,  and  take  a  stage-ride  of  about  a  hundred 
miles  in  a  northwesterly  direction,  though  a  favorite  method  of  tourists  has  been  to 
travel  on  horseback  with  a  camp-equipage  packed  on  mules  or  in  baggage-wagons. 

Middle  Park  lies  directly  south  of  North  Park,  from  which  it  is  separated  by  one 
of  the  cross-chains  of  the  great  mountain  labyrinth.  The  continental  divide  sweeps 
around  on  its  east  side,  and  majestic  mountains  encircle  it  on  all  sides,  among  which 
Long's  Peak,  Gray's  Peak,  and  Mount  Lincoln,  from  thirteen  thousand  to  fourteen 
thousand  five  hundred  feet  high,  stand  as  the  most  prominent  sentinels.  This  park 
has  an  area  of  about  three  thousand  square  miles,  and  is  elevated  seven  thousand  five 
hundred  feet  above  the  sea.  It  is  drained  by  the  Blue  River  and  the  head-waters  of 
the  Grand  River,  flowing  westward  to  the  Colorado.  The  portions  of  the  park  not 
covered  by  forest  expand  into  broad,  open  meadows,  the  grasses  of  which  are  inter- 
spersed with  wild-flowers  of  every  hue.  There  is  game  in  abundance,  including  deer, 


458 


OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 


mountain  -  sheep,    elk, 
bears,    and    antelopes, 
and    the    waters    teem 
with     fish.      The    cli- 
mate,   notwithstanding 
the  great   elevation,  is 
remarkably    mild    and 
equable,  the  nights  be- 
ing cool  in  summer  and 
the  days  warm   in  winter.     No 
one,  of  course,   should  attempt 
to  winter  here  who  can  not  safe- 
ly be  cut  off  from  many  of  the 
comforts    and    conveniences    of 
life ;    but    those    who    are    able 
and  willing  to  "rough  it"  will 
hardly  find  a  place  where  they 
can  do  so  under  more  favorable 
conditions.     The  usual  objective 
point  of  tourists  who  go  to  the 
Middle  Park  is  the  Hot  Sulphur 
Springs,  which  may  be  reached 
from    Georgetown   by   the    Ber- 

thoud   Pass   (forty-five   miles)  ;  from   Central   City   by   the  James's   Peak   trail    (sixty 
miles)  ;  and  from  South  Boulder.     The  Colorado  Company's  fine  stages  leave  the  Bar- 


Rainbow  Fallt,   Ute  Pa»». 


COLORADO.  459 

ton  House,  Georgetown,  every  other  day  for  the  Springs.  A  pleasant  way  of  making 
the  journey  is  on  horseback  via  the  first-mentioned  route.  The  springs  are  situated 
on  a  tributary  of  Grand  River,  about  twelve  miles  from  the  south  boundary  of  the 
park.  The  waters  are  used  chiefly  in  the  form  of  baths,  and  have  been  found  highly 
beneficial  in  cases  of  rheumatism,  neuralgia,  chronic  diseases  of  the  skin,  and  general 
debility.  The  accommodations  for  invalids  are  not  first-rate  as  yet,  but  sufficient, 
perhaps,  for  those  who  ought  to  venture  upon  the  journey  thither  over  the  mount- 
ains. A  small  town  is  gradually  growing  up  in  the  vicinity.  One  of  the  pleasantest 
excursions  in  Middle  Park  is  up  the  valley,  twenty-seven  miles  from  the  Springs,  by 
a  good  road  to  Grand  Lake,  the  source  of  the  main  fork  of  Grand  River.  The  lake 
nestles  close  to  the  base  of  the  mountains,  precipitous  cliffs  hang  frowning  over  its 
waters  on  three  sides,  tall  pines  come  almost  down  to  the  white  sand-beach,  and  its 
translucent  depths  are  thronged  with  trout  and  other  fish. 

South  Park,  the  best  known  and  most  beautiful  of  all  the  parks,  lies  next  below 
Middle  Park,  from  which  it  is  separated  by  a  branch  of  the  Park  range.  It  is  sixty 
miles  long  and  thirty  wide,  with  an  area  of  about  twenty-two  hundred  square  miles, 
and,  like  the  Middle  Park,  is  surrounded  on  all  sides  by  gigantic  ranges  of  mountains, 
whose  culminating  crests  tower  above  the  region  of  perpetual  snow.  The  highest  ele- 
vation of  the  park  above  the  sea  is  ten  thousand  feet,  while  the  average  elevation  is 
about  nine  thousand  feet,  and  nearly  all  the  land  which  it  contains  is  well  adapted 
to  agriculture.  The  streams,  which  are  supplied  by  melting  snows  from  the  sur- 
rounding mountains,  are  tributaries  of  the  South  Platte,  and  flow  east  through  the 
park  to  the  plains.  The  climate  of  the  South  Park  is  milder  than  that  of  either 
North  or  Middle  Park,  and  its  greater  accessibility  gives  it  peculiar  advantages  for 
such  tourists  and  invalids  as  can  not  endure  much  fatigue.  Fairplay  is  the  chief 
town  of  the  region,  and  a  good  center  for  excursions.  The  park  is  traversed  from 
north  to  south  by  a  branch  line  of  the  Union  Pacific  road.  The  scenery  is  of  the 
greatest  grandeur  and  beauty,  especially  at  the  canon  of  the  Platte  and  Kawsha  sum- 
mit. From  Fairplay,  one  of  the  stations  on  the  railroad,  there  is  easy  access  to 
Mount  Lincoln,  the  ascent  to  the  top  of  which  may  be  made  in  carriages,  as  it  pre- 
sents no  special  difficulties.  Mount  Lincoln  is  one  of  the  highest  of  the  Colorado 
peaks,  being  14,296  feet  in  elevation,  and  from  the  summit,  we  are  told  by  Professor 
Whitney,  there  is  a  view  unequaled  by  any  in  Switzerland  for  its  reach  or  the  mag- 
nificence of  the  heights  included  in  its  horizon.  The  direct  road  to  the  great  mining 
center  of  Leadville  from  Denver  passes  through  South  Park. 

The  largest  of  the  parks  (for  it  includes  an  area  equal  to  that  of  the  other  three 
combined)  is  San  Luis.  It  is  about  twice  the  size  of  the  State  of  New  Hampshire, 
and  contains  eighteen  thousand  square  miles.  It  is  separated  from  South  Park,  of 
which  it  lies  directly  south  by  the  main  range  which  forms  its  north  and  east  bound- 
ary, while  on  its  west  is  the  Sierra  San  Juan.  From  the  encircling  snow-crests  thirty- 
five  streams  pour  their  waters  through  the  park,  nineteen  of  them  flowing  into  San 
Luis  Lake,  a  beautiful  sheet  of  water  near  the  center  of  the  inclosure,  while  the  others 


460 


OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 


discharge  their  volume  into  the  Kio  del  Norte  in  its  course  to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico. 
On  the  flanks  of  the  mountains  dense  forests  of  pine,  spruce,  hemlock,  fir,  aspen,  oak, 
cedar,  and  piflon  alternate  with  broad  natural  meadows,  producing  a  luxurious  growth 
of  nutritious  grasses,  upon  which  cattle  subsist  throughout  the  year  without  any  other 
food,  and  requiring  no  shelter.  The  highest  elevation  in  the  park  does  not  exceed 
seven  thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  and  this,  together  with  its  southern  and  sheltered 
location,  gives  it  a  wonderfully  mild,  genial,  and  equable  climate.  Warm  mineral 
springs  abound  here  as  in  other  parts  of  the  State,  and  are  becoming  widely  noted 
for  their  valuable  medicinal  properties. 


The  Snow-clad  Peats  of  the  Rocky  Mountains, 


THE    YOSEMITE. 

Approaches  to  the  Yosemite  Valley — How  it  was  discovered — The  big  trees  of  Mariposa — Descent  into  the  valley  by 
the  Mariposa  trail — The  Bridal  Veil  Fall  and  Cathedral  Rocks — Sentinel  Rock  and  Dome — Yosemite  Falls — The 
inhabitants  of  the  valley — The  gorge  of  the  Merced — Tenaya  Canon — View  from  Cloud's  Rest — Accommodation 
for  visitors. 


llvmt,  from  the  Merced 


THE  Yosemite  Val- 
ley, which  is  one  of  the 
great  natural  wonders 
of  the  United  States, 
lies  among  the  Sierra 
Nevadas  of  California, 
nearly  in  the  center  of 
the  State,  north  and 
south,  and  midway  be- 
tween the  east  and  west 
bases  of  the  mountains, 
which  at  this  point 
are  about  seventy  miles 
wide.  In  a  direct  line 
the  Yosemite  Valley  is 
one  hundred  and  fifty 
miles  due  east  of  San 
Francisco,  but  the  act- 
ual circuit  of  travel  is 
a  hundred  miles  more. 
It  is  in  the  southern 
portion  of  Mariposa 
County,  and  through 
it  runs  the  Merced  Riv- 


462  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

er.  The  gorge  is  about  eight  miles  in  length,  from  half  a  mile  to  a  mile  in  width, 
and  is  inclosed  in  frowning  granite  walls,  rising  in  unbroken  and  almost  perpen- 
dicular faces  to  the  dizzy  height  of  from  two  thousand  to  five  thousand  feet  above 
the  green  and  quiet  vale  beneath.  Travelers  from  the  East  visiting  the  Yosemite 
usually  go  on  to  San  Francisco,  and  make  their  start  for  the  valley  from  that  city, 
although  they  have  to  return  again  on  the  Central  Pacific  Railroad  to  one  of  three 
stations  whence  stage  routes  conduct  to  the  valley.  The  favorite  route  is  by  the 
Visalia  branch  of  the  Central  Pacific,  which  diverges  from  the  main  line  at  Lathrop 
to  Madera.  From  the  latter  place  there  are  ninety  miles  of  staging  to  the  valley, 
and  the  route  is  popular,  as  it  affords  an  opportunity  to  see  en  route  the  Mariposa 
grove  of  big  trees,  which  is  part  of  the  Yosemite  grant  made  by  Congress.  The  sec- 
ond route  is  by  stage  from  Merced,  on  the  Visalia  branch,  which  gives  the  tourist  the 
chance  to  see  the  Tuolumne  grove  of  big  trees.  A  third  is  also  to  Merced,  whence  a 
stage  route  connects  with  the  Mariposa  route  at  Clark's,  and  carries  the  traveler  into 
the  Yosemite  Valley  by  Inspiration  Point.  The  fourth  is  from  Stockton,  on  the  Cen- 
tral Pacific,  by  the  Stockton  and  Copperopolis  road  to  Milton,  and  thence  by  stage. 
which  gives  one  an  opportunity  to  view  the  Calaveras  grove  of  big  trees. 

The  name  "  Yosemite  "  was  given  to  this  valley  in  the  belief  that  it  was  the  In- 
dian name  for  grizzly  bear.  The  valley  was  first  discovered  in  the  spring  of  1851. 
As  early  as  the  spring  of  1850,  the  whites,  living  about  Mariposa  and  mining  on  the 
streams  that  head  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Yosemite,  after  considerable  trouble  with  the 
Indians  living  thereabouts,  organized  a  military  company  to  drive  them  out  of  the 
country.  It  was  soon  found  that  they  had  some  sort  of  a  stronghold  away  up  among 
the  mountains,  and  to  this  they  invariably  retreated  when  hard  pressed.  The  charac- 
ter of  the  place  was  unknown,  but  soon  wild  stories  were  told  of  an  impregnable 
mountain  fastness,  exciting  the  curiosity  of  the  settlers ;  so  that,  in  the  spring  of 
1851,  an  expedition  was  organized,  under  the  command  of  Captain  Boling,  to  find 
the  place  and  disperse  the  naughty  aborigines.  Led  by  a  friendly  old  Indian,  the 
party  reached  the  valley,  surprised  the  hiding  braves,  and  drove  them  out.  This  was 
the  first  visit  by  white  men  to  the  Yosemite.  Next  year  there  was  more  trouble  with 
the  Indians,  and  a  second  expedition  went  out,  again  driving  the  offenders  before 
them.  They  took  refuge  with  the  Monos,  a  powerful  tribe  among  the  mountains, 
quarreled  with  them,  and  by  them  were  almost  entirely  exterminated,  so  that  now,  it 
is  said,  but  few  of  the  Yosemites  are  alive. 

Although  wonderful  stories  were  told  by  those  who  returned,  it  was  not  until  four 
years  later  (1855)  that  Mr.  J.  M.  Hutchings  gathered  a  party  and  made  the  first 
regular  tourist's  visit  to  the  valley.  A  second  party  went  in  the  same  season,  and 
next  year  a  trail  was  completed  on  the  Mariposa  side,  and  the  regular  pleasure  travel 
commenced.  The  same  year  (1856)  the  first  house  or  shanty  was  put  up,  on  the  site 
of  what  is  now  known  as  Black's  Hotel. 

In  June,  1864,  Congress  granted  to  the  State  of  California,  in  trust,  the  Yosemite 
Valley  and  the  Mariposa  grove  of  "Big  Trees,"  upon  condition  that  the  territory  thus 


THE   YOSEMITE. 


463 


Descent  into  the  Valley. 


464  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

designated  should  be  set  apart  "  for  public  use,  resort,  and  recreation."  California 
accepted  the  trust,  appointed  commissioners,  and  hence  this  magnificent  valley,  which, 
without  extravagance,  we  may  pronounce  one  of  the  world's  wonders,  is  preserved  se- 
cure in  all  its  beauty  and  grandeur  for  public  uses. 

The  principal  features  of  the  Yosemite  Valley,  and  those  by  which  it  is  distin- 
guished from  all  other  known  valleys,  according  to  Professor  J.  D.  Whitney,  are :  the 
near  approach  to  vertically  of  its  walls  ;  their  great  height,  not  only  absolutely,  but 
as  compared  with  the  width  of  the  valley ;  and  the  very  small  amount  of  debris  scat- 
tered on  the  main  floor  of  the  valley.  These  are  the  great  characteristics  of  the  Yo- 
semite region  throughout  its  whole  length ;  but  besides  these  there  are  many  other 
striking  peculiarities  and  features,  both  of  sublimity  and  beauty,  which  can  hardly  be 
surpassed,  if  they  are  equaled,  by  those  of  any  other  valley  in  the  world.  Either  the 
domes  or  the  waterfalls  of  the  Yosemite,  or  any  single  one  of  them  even,  would  be 
sufficient,  in  any  European  country,  to  attract  travelers  from  far  and  wide  in  all  direc- 
tions. Waterfalls  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Yosemite,  surpassing  in  beauty  many  of  the 
best  known  and  most  visited  in  Europe,  are  actually  left  entirely  unnoticed  by  travelers, 
because  there  are  so  many  other  objects  of  interest  to  be  visited  that  it  is  impossible 
to  find  time  for  them  all. 

The  valley  contains  eleven  hundred  and  forty-one  acres  of  level  bottom ;  and  of 
these,  seven  hundred  and  forty-five  acres  are  meadow,  the  rest  being  covered  with 
trees  and  rock.  From  Tenaya  Canon,  at  the  upper  end  of  the  valley,  to  Bridal  Veil 
Fall,  at  the  lower  end,  four  and  a  half  miles  in  a  direct  line,  the  decline  is  only 
thirty-five  feet.  Naturally  enough,  so  level  a  surface  is  greatly  overflowed  during  the 
spring  freshets.  The  scant,  coarse  grass  of  the  meadows  gives  in  the  perspective  an 
impression  of  the  richest  green,  gemmed  with  a  profusion  of  brilliant  flowers.  Through 
these  meadows  winds  the  Merced  Kiver,  during  the  summer  an  orderly  stream,  aver- 
aging about  eighty  feet  in  width,  but  in  the  early  spring  it  is  transformed  into  a 
furious  torrent.  The  banks  are  fringed  with  alders,  willow,  poplar,  cottonwood,  and 
evergreens ;  upon  the  meadow  level  are  grouped,  in  groves  of  greater  or  less  size  and 
density,  pines,  cedars,  and  oaks.  From  every  point  of  view  in  the  valley  one  of  the 
most  striking  effects  is  in  the  richly  variegated  color  of  the  mountain  walls.  The  prin- 
cipal hue  is  a  light  gray,  reflecting  brilliantly  white  in  the  sunlight,  occasionally  varied 
with  veins  of  a  deeper,  brighter  hue.  In  many  places  stripes  of  red,  brown,  and  black 
are  produced  by  the  flowing  down  of  water  carrying  organic  matter.  The  walls  arc 
of  granite,  with  an  average  height  of  about  three  thousand  feet ;  in  some  places 
nearly  vertical,  and  with  very  little  debris  at  the  base ;  in  others,  a  pine-covered  slope 
leads  up  to  gigantic  towers,  spires,  or  sharp-cut  peaks.  There  are  no  fewer  than  five 
trails  over  which  a  beast  of  burden  may  climb  in  or  out  of  the  valley ;  and  a  man, 
sure-footed,  cool-headed,  and  strong,  may  find  a  dozen  places  where  he  could,  with- 
out real  danger,  scale  those  seemingly  impassable  barriers. 

It  is  difficult  to  find  comparisons  to  give  an  impression  of  the  grandeur  of  the 
scenery,  or  of  the  lofty  precipices  surrounding  the  valley.  If  the  reader  crosses  the 


THE   YOSEMITE. 


465 


30 


Yosemite,  from  Maripoaa  Trail. 


466  OUR  NATIVE  LAND, 

continent  on  the  Pacific  Railroad,  let  him  imagine,  when  on  the  loftiest  mountain- 
pass,  that  it  be  cleft  in  twain  to  the  level  of  the  sea,  and  from  the  base  he  can  look 
up  four  thousand  feet  to  the  summit  of  El  G'apitan,  or  six  thousand  feet  to  the  glis- 
tening crown  of  the  South  Dome.  If  from  New  England,  let  him  reflect  that  its 
loftiest  peak — Mount  Washington — raises  its  head  only  to  the  height  of  one  of  these 
giant  rocks.  The  beauty  of  this  grand  scenery  can  not  be  easily  conveyed  in  words. 

The  great  gorge  is  not  the  only  object  that  calls  the  visitor  to  this  section.  The 
vegetable  productions  are  in  keeping  with  the  majestic  rocks  and  giddy  waterfalls. 
Surrounding  it,  at  distances  of  from  ten  to  fifty  miles,  are  numerous  groves  of  the 
great  trees  which  have  so  astonished  the  world.  These  have  been  principally  examined 
by  Whitney  and  his  corps  of  geologists,  and  their  number  is  unknown.  Those  of 
Calaveras  are  more  accessible  and  better  known,  but,  large  as  they  are,  many  are 
found  in  the  southern  groves  exceeding  them  in  size.  Whitney  measured  one  of  one 
hundred  and  six  feet  in  circumference  and  two  hundred  and  seventy-six  feet  high. 
Another,  lying  prostrate,  has  been  burned  so  hollow  that  one  can  ride  on  horseback 
in  the  cavity  for  a  distance  of  seventy-six  feet,  and  have  ample  room  to  turn  around. 
The  big  trees  of  this  section  are  not  in  a  single  grove,  as  in  Calaveras  County,  but  are 
scattered  through  an  extensive  region  at  an  elevation  of  from  six  to  seven  thousand 
feet  above  the  sea.  The  collection  known  as  Mariposa  Grove  lies  within  about  five 
miles  of  the  road  leading  from  Mariposa  to  Yosemite,  and,  from  this  fact,  has  become 
a  great  resort  for  visitors.  There  are  in  the  grove  about  six  hundred  large  trees  of 
from  thirty  to  one  hundred  feet  in  circumference  and  from  two  hundred  and  thirty 
to  three  hundred  and  twenty-five  feet  in  height.  These  are  of  the  taxodium  family, 
and  bear  the  general  name  of  Sequoia — in  honor  of  the  Cherokee  chief  who  made  an 
alphabet  for  his  tribe — but  are  distinguished  by  the  specific  name  of  Gigantia.  This 
grove  is  the  property  of  the  State  of  California,  and  will  be  preserved  as  a  public 
resort.  The  grove  is  reached  from  Mariposa  or  Yosemite  by  leaving  the  trail  at 
Clark's,  a  station  about  midway  between  the  two  places,  and  taking  an  easy  road  to 
them  about  five  miles  distant.  Other  groves  are  in  the  vicinity,  and  the  Indians  re- 
port still  others,  with  larger  trees,  farther  in  the  mountains,  which  white  men  have 
never  seen. 

The  point  from  which  most  travelers  get  their  first  view  of  the  valley  is  known  as 
Inspiration  Point,  a  cliff  which  gives  a  magnificent  outlook  over  a  scene  almost  un- 
paralleled of  its  kind.  Mr.  Clarence  King  has  put  on  record  his  unwillingness  to  be 
betrayed  into  the  rapture  which  overcomes  the  self-restraint  of  most  travelers  in  these 
words :  "  I  always  go  swiftly  by  this  famous  point  of  view  now,  feeling  somehow  that 
I  don't  belong  to  that  army  of  literary  travelers  who  have  here  planted  themselves  and 
burst  into  rhetoric.  Here  all  who  make  California  books,  down  to  the  last  and  most 
sentimental  specimen  who  so  much  as  meditates  a  letter  to  his  or  her  local  paper,  dis- 
mount and  inflate."  The  descent  into  the  valley  by  the  old  Mariposa  trail,  from 
Inspiration  Point,  is  a  distance  of  about  three  miles  in  three  thousand  feet.  Every 
few  rods  some  new  charm  is  presented  to  the  eye — trees  grouped  in  picturesque  back- 


THE   YOSEMITE. 


467 


ground,  and  finding  bold  relief  against  the  glowing  tints  of  the  distant  cliffs  ;  flowers 

nodding  in  the  breeze,  and  little  streams  rippling  and  gurgling  across  the  road,  as  if 

unconscious  of  the  terrible  leaps  that  must  be  taken  to  reach   the  river  below.      In 

contrast  to  this  living  grace  and   beauty  are 

the  walls,  towers,  and  domes  of  the  Yosemite, 

grand  and  serene,  divided  into  tender  shadow 

and  brilliant  sunlight,  full  of  a  majesty  which 

has  nothing  in  it  of   the  stern   and 

implacable.     Approaching  the  level  of 

the  valley  and  the  open  meadows,  the 

groves  of  trees  and  the  winding  river, 

the    beautiful    park-like    nature 

of  the  valley  fully  reveals  itself. 

Trees  bending  in  graceful  frame- 


Valley  Floor,  with  View  of  Cathedral  Spires. 

work  inclose  various  charming  pictures  as  we  advance,  one  of  the  most  attractive 
being  Bridal  Veil  Fall,  as  it  springs  over  the  wall  nine  hundred  feet  high.  The 
upper  part  sparkles  in  the  sunlight  a  solid  body,  then  the  water  is  swept  into  a  wild 
whirl  of  spray,  that  comes  eddying  down  in  soft  mists  and  formless  showers.  Emerg- 


468  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

ing  on  a  broad  meadow  from  the  grove,  through  which  we  have  been  passing,  the 
Cathedral  Rocks  stand  against  the  sky,  with  their  spires  all  aglow  in  the  sunlight.  At 
their  foot  the  Merced  River  presses  the  road  so  closely  that  it  is  forced  to  wind  its 
way  througli  masses  of  huge  granite  blocks,  embowered  in  lofty  trees  which  have  grown 
up  since  these  Titans  were  dislodged  from  their  places.  So  one  thing  follows  another — 
broad  stretches  of  greenery  enameled  with  a  million  flowers,  and  noble  groves  of  pine 
and  cedar,  so  cathedral-like  and  grand  as  to  suggest  the  old  Druidical  haunts,  where 
solemn  rites  were  wont  to  be  performed  by  hoary  priests,  and  human  sacrifices  offered 
to  irate  gods.  A  sentiment  of  deep,  slumberous  repose,  almost  impossible  to  describe, 
pervades  the  scene  at  the  sunset-time  of  day,  when  the  traveler  generally  arrives. 
The  thick  carpeting  of  pine  spindles  muffles  every  footfall ;  the  pillared  tree-trunks 
form  vistas  that  stretch  like  long-drawn  aisles  to  the  deepest  forest  depths ;  the  inter- 
laced branches  do  not  obscure  the  luminous  sky  above,  nor  hide  the  tall  cathedral 
spires  that  burn  ruddy  in  the  gleam  of  falling  day.  The  whole  experience  is  one  of 
profoundest  peacefulness  and  calm. 

We  have  already  spoken  of  Bridal  Veil  Fall,  which,  as  seen  from  the  valley,  ap- 
pears to  have  a  vertical  fall  of  nine  hundred  feet,  and  of  Cathedral  Rock,  a  massively 
sculptured  granite  pile,  rising  twenty-six  hundred  and  sixty  feet  above  the  levels  below. 
Above  the  latter  tower  are  the  Spires,  some  five  hundred  feet  higher,  standing  out  from 
but  connected  at  the  base  with  the  walls  of  the  valley.  As  we  proceed  up  the  valley 
a  point  of  rocks  projects  out  of  the  mountain  wall,  terminating  in  a  slender  mass  of 
granite  somewhat  resembling  an  obelisk.  This  is  known  as  Sentinel  Rock,  certainly 
among  the  most  picturesque  and  striking  rock-forms  in  the  valley,  the  top  reaching 
a  height  of  over  three  thousand  feet,  and  the  face  being  almost  vertical.  The  fall,  as 
shown  in  the  illustration,  exists  in  the  spring  only,  when  the  mountain  torrents  are 
swollen  with  the  melting  snows ;  then  the  force  and  volume  are  grand,  as  is  evident 
from  the  gorge  hollowed  out  at  the  foot.  A  view  of  this  water-torn  gully  ends  all 
conception  of  a  well-ordered  park  below.  When  the  spring  torrents  pour  into  the 
valley  they  leap  the  cliffs  with  indescribable  fury,  carrying  down  huge  rocks  and 
quantities  of  coarse  granite  sand,  to  work  destruction  as  they  spread  their  burden  over 
the  level  ground.  In  some  places  this  detritus  is  piled  up  to  the  height  of  several 
feet  in  the  course  of  a  single  spring.  At  this  season  water  is  an  element  of  destruc- 
tion, in  freezing  as  well  as  in  thawing.  The  little  rills  that  filter  into  every  crack 
and  crevice  by  day,  as  they  freeze  by  night,  enable  the  frost  to  ply  its  giant  leverage, 
and  so,  where  disaster  from  water  seems  to  threaten  everything,  there  is  added  the 
shock  of  falling  cliffs.  The  granite  walls  between  Cathedral  and  Sentinel  Rocks  suffer 
very  much  from  this  disintegration.  Great  cliffs  have  fallen,  and  avalanches  of  rock 
have  plowed  their  way  down  the  slope  to  the  bottom  of  the  valley.  Amid  such  sur- 
roundings the  wreck  of  a  world  is  suggested,  so  vast  the  ruin,  so  pigmy  the  climber. 
Only  a  feeble  impression  can  be  conveyed  in  words  of  the  effects  of  mountains  of 
granite,  sharp  and  fresh  in  fracture,  piled  one  upon  the  other,  the  torn  fragments  of 
a  forest  underneath,  or  strewed  about,  as  if  the  greatest  trees  had  been  but  as  straws 


THE   YOSEMITE. 


469 


Sentinel  Rock  and  Fall. 

tossed  about  in  the  wind.     A  broad  track  of  desolation  leads  away  up  to  the  heights 
from  which  these  rocks  have  been  hurled. 

Back  of  Sentinel  Kock  is  Sentinel  Dome,  forty-one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  above 
the  valley.  From  this  spot  may  be  had  a  splendid  coup  d'ceil  of  most  of  the  re- 
markable features  of  the  valley.  On  the  left,  opposite  the  Bridal  Veil  Fall,  is  the 
Virgin's  Tears  Fall,  where  the  creek  of  that  name  leaps  over  the  wall  more  than  a 
thousand  feet.  Just  above  is  El  Capitan,  an  immense  block  of  granite  projecting 


470  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

into  the  valley,  and  presenting  an  almost  vertical  edge  thirty-three  hundred  feet  in 
height.  Although  not  so  high  as  some  of  its  giant  neighbors,  yet  its  isolation,  its 
breadth,  its  perpendicular  sides,  and  its  prominence,  as  it  projects  like  a  great  prom- 
ontory into  the  valley,  make  it,  a,s  its  name  indicates,  the  "Great  Chief"  of  the  val- 
ley. The  walls  of  the  mass  are  bare,  smooth,  and  totally  destitute  of  vegetation.  It 
is  doubtful,  according  to  Professor  Whitney,  if  there  be  anywhere  in  the  world  so 
squarely  cut  and  imposing  a  face  of  rock. 

Farther  up,  and  nearly  opposite  Sentinel  Kock,  are  the  Three  Brothers,  a  triple 
group  of  rocks  of  peculiar  outline,  resembling  three  frogs  sitting  with  their  heads 
turned  in  one  direction — a  likeness  which  is  supposed  to  have  suggested  the  Indian 
name  Pompompasus,  meaning  "  Leaping  Frog  Eocks."  The  highest  of  the  peaks  is 
thirty-eight  hundred  and  thirty  feet  in  height,  and  from  this  point  is  also  a  favorite 
place  of  outlook  over  the  valley.  Just  beyond  the  "Three  Brothers"  may  be  seen 
the  great  waterfall  of  the  valley,  known  as  the  Yosemite,  formed  by  a  creek  of  the 
same  name.  In  the  spring,  when  the  air  is  full  of  the  thunder  of  falling  waters, 
this  cataract  is  at  its  grandest,  and  no  falls  in  the  known  world  can  be  compared 
with  them  in  height  and  romantic  beauty.  The  summit  of  the  upper  fall  is  a  little 
over  twenty-six  hundred  feet  above  the  valley  ;  for  fifteen  hundred  feet  the  de- 
scent is  absolutely  vertical,  and  the  rock  is  like  a  wall  of  masonry.  Below  this  the 
fall  of  water  sways  and  sweeps,  yielding  to  the  force  of  the  fitful  wind  with  a  mar- 
velous grace  and  endless  variety  of  motion.  For  a  moment  it  descends  .with  continu- 
ous roar ;  in  another  instant  it  is  caught,  and,  reversing  its  flight,  rises  upward  in 
wreathing  mists,  finally  fading  out,  like  a  summer  cloud,  before  it  reaches  the  base 
of  the  cliff.  The  stream  at  the  summit,  at  its  medium  stage,  is  estimated  to  be 
twenty  feet  wide  and  about  two  feet  in  average  depth.  As  the  different  parts  of  the 
fall  are  nearly  in  one  vertical  plane,  the  effect  is  about  as  striking  and  picturesque  as 
if  the  water  made  but  a  single  leap  from  the  top  of  the  cliff  to  the  level  of  the 
valley. 

The  tourist,  wandering  up  and  down  in  his  study  of  the  wonders  of  the  valley, 
occasionally  meets  groups  of  Indians,  the  native  tribe  of  the  region,  now  nearly  ex- 
tinct. These  vagrant  and  worthless  redskins  have  been  pretty  much  deprived  of  their 
savage  virtues  by  the  contact  of  civilization,  which  has  only  impressed  them  with  its 
vices.  In  general  appearance  they  are  robust,  and  even  fat — a  condition  produced  by 
their  diet,  which  is  mostly  the  acorns  with  which  the  valley  abounds.  The  craft, 
courage,  and  dexterity  of  the  hunter,  in  which  so  many  of  the  Indian  tribes  excel, 
appear  to  be  lacking  to  the  Yosemite  Indians ;  and  they  find  a  miserable  support  on 
the  mast  which  they  gather  from  the  earth,  like  the  swine,  to  which  they  are  so 
nearly  allied  in  nature  and  habits.  There  are  about  fifty  of  these  Indians,  of  both 
sexes  and  of  all  ages,  living  in  the  valley  in  the  most  primitive  fashion,  their  wall  if* 
or  huts  consisting  of  branches  stuck  in  the  earth  in  a  semicircular  fashion,  the  leaf- 
covered  boughs  meeting  overhead.  Generally  these  children  of  Nature  are  excessively 
dirty,  but  some  of  them,  according  to  the  account  of  an  artist  sketching  in  the  val- 


THE   Y08EMITE. 


471 


The  Yosemite  Fall«. 


472  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

ley,  at  least  had  the  instinct  of  cleanliness.  He  writes  :  "  While  sitting  at  work  on 
the  bank  of  the  river  three  young  squaws  came  along,  and  surprised  me  by  deliberately 
preparing  for  a  bath  not  a  hundred  feet  from  me.  They  disported  themselves  witli  all 
the  grace  of  mermaids,  diving,  swimming,  and  playing  for  nearly  an  hour  in  the 
snow-cold  water.  They  stole  a  Chinaman's  soap  and  used  it  lavishly ;  and  making 
their  fingers  do  duty  as  tooth-brushes,  they  showed  a  purpose  of  cleanliness  as  well 
as  of  sport.  It  was  really  a  charming  picture — the  water  so  clearly  transparent ;  the 
beach  shelving  in  smooth  slopes  of  sand  ;  the  trees  overarching  the  stream  ;  beyond 
all,  the  Yosemite  Fall,  swaying  in  silvery  showers,  and  in  the  foreground  pool  these 
children  of  Nature  playing,  their  tawny  skins  wet  with  water,  and  glistening  with  all 
the  beauty  of  animated  bronze.  After  their  bath  they  favored  me  with  their  com- 
pany. One  pulled  from  its  place  of  concealment  a  Jew's-harp,  and  my  ears  were 
regaled  with  'Shoo,  Fly.'  Another  element,  hardly  less  nomadic  or  vagabondish  in 
character,  is  found  in  the  rough  fellows  who  have  found  their  way  into  the  valley  as 
mule-drivers,  peddlers,  and  similar  nondescripts,  that  hover  between  the  lines  of  civili- 
zation and  the  outer  world  of  lawlessness.  So  there  may  be  seen,  among  these  queer 
dwellers  in  the  most  beautiful  of  valleys,  Indians,  Chinamen,  Mexicans,  negroes,  and 
white-skinned  men  not  a  bit  higher  in  character,  living  on  terms  of  social  fraternity 
and  equality.  These  vagabonds  pick  up  a  precarious  livelihood  in  guiding  the  guests 
of  the  hotels  and  hiring  their  scrubby  mules  and  mustangs  for  excursions.  The 
grand  excitement  for  these  residents  of  the  valley  is  found  in  horse-racing,  and  Sun- 
day morning  is  the  favorite  racing  time.  This  strange  Derby  of  the  Californian  wilds 
presents  but  little  analogy  to  its  more  civilized  types  of  race  meetings.  The  horses 
have  no  saddles  ;  the  riders  are  stripped  of  all  superfluous  clothing,  and  ride  bare- 
headed and  bare-footed,  with  only  a  sheepskin  or  bit  of  blanket  under  them ;  and 
over  the  drawn-up  knees,  and  around  the  horse's  body,  a  surcingle  is  tightly  drawn, 
literally  binding  horse  and  rider  into  one.  An  unlimited  amount  of  profanity  is  in- 
dulged in  by  the  ragged  loafers  of  all  colors  that  constitute  the  crowd  of  interested 
spectators,  and  the  excitement  is  not  less  than  would  be  witnessed  at  Jerome  Park  or 
at  Ascot.  Amid  the  rude  turmoil  of  curses  and  laughter,  too,  may  be  heard  the  clear 
clink  of  gold  and  silver  coin,  for  many  of  the  onlookers  bet  their  last  dollar  on  the 
race. 

Let  us  return  from  this  brief  digression  to  a  further  description  of  the  beauties  of 
the  region.  A  little  east  of  the  Sentinel  Eock,  and  directly  across  the  valley  from 
Yosemite  Fall,  is  Glacier  Point,  from  which  one  of  the  finest  views  in  the  valley  may 
be  obtained.  The  climb  to  this  point  is  exceedingly  interesting.  We  skirt  around 
the  brows  of  precipices,  from  which  the  abyss  seems  to  be  bottomless,  and  out  of  the 
somber  depths  come  up  the  roaring  of  distant  waters  and  the  lulling  song  of  pine-tree 
forests.  The  Too-lulu-wack  Fall  is  almost  immediately  below,  and  can  not  be  seen  ;  but 
on  the  opposite  side  are  the  Vernal  and  Nevada  Falls,  and  the  many  cataracts  of  the 
Merced,  which,  unlike  most  of  the  other  streams  entering  the  valley,  are  very  impos- 
ing all  the  year  round.  The  Cap  of  Liberty  rises  prominently  in  the  center  of  the 


THE   YOSEMITE. 


•-'     '-^-: 


Gorge  of  the  Merced, 
from  Glacier  I\>int  Trail. 


scene,    back    of 
that  the   Little 
Yosemite  opens, 
and  beyond  all 
tower  the  snow- 
capped   sierras. 
At  last  we  reach 
the  top  of  Gla- 
cier Point,   and  here  get 
a    splendid    view    of    the 
upper  part  of  the  valley. 
At  this  upper  end,  about 
two  miles  above  the  Yo- 
semite   Falls,    the    main 
valley    branches    out    into    three 
distinct  but  quite  narrow  canons. 
Through  the  middle  one  of  these 
the  Merced  River  pours  down,  and 
in   the  right  hand  or  northeast  one  the 
south  fork  of  the  Illilouette ;  in  the  left 
hand   or   northwest   gorge   flows   the   Te- 
naya  fork  of  the  Merced.      Glacier  Point 
is   a   spur  of  rock  or  mountain  jutting   out   of 
the  east  or  right  hand  side  of  the  valley,  where 
it  divides.     From  the  terraced  summit  we  look  down 
thirty-two  hundred  feet  to  the  meadows  at  our  very 
feet.     Few  can  gaze  into  such  depths  without  shud- 


474  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

dering  and  drawing  back.  Nearly  opposite,  about  a  mile  and  a  half  away,  the  Yo- 
semite  Fall  makes  a  half  mile  in  three  leaps,  and  shows  its  graceful  proportion  to 
better  advantage  than  from  any  other  point.  To  the  right  or  northeast  we  look  up 
Tenaya  Canon,  its  narrow  floor  beautiful  with  tall  pines,  that  almost  hide  its  one 
jewel,  Mirror  Lake ;  but  with  walls  grim  and  vast,  that  sweep  on  the  right  up  nearly 
five  thousand  feet  and  culminate  in  the  grand  dominating  form  of  the  Talley,  the 
Half  Dome,  which  is  shown  in  the  opening  illustration  of  this  chapter.  This  is  the 
loftiest  of  those  heights  belonging  to  the  Yosemite.  It  is  a  crest  of  granite  rising  to 
the  height  of  forty-seven  hundred  and  thirty-seven  feet  above  the  valley,  and  was 
long  considered  inaccessible,  but' in  1879  improvements  were  made  by  which  tourists 
are  now  enabled  to  reach  this  commanding  height.  Across  the  green  depths  of  Te- 
naya Canon  towers  the  symmetrical  form  of  the  North  Dome,  looming  up  to  the 
altitude  of  thirty-six  hundred  and  fifty-eight  feet.  Right  under  the  shadow  of  the 
North  Dome,  at  the  angle  where  the  Yosemite  branches  into  Tenaya  Canon,  is  the 
rounded  columnar  mass  called  Washington  Column,  and  the  Royal  Arches,  a  magnifi- 
cent arched  cavity  of  perfect  shape. 

The  bald  slope  and  crest  of  Cloud's  Rest  tower  beyond  and  behind  the  sierras, 
untrodden  yet  by  the  foot  of  man.  There  are  but  few  places  where  so  much  of  the 
terrible  and  the  beautiful  is  combined. 

There  are  five  trails  through  which  a  horse  may  get  in  or  out  of  the  Yosemite  Valley. 
The  Mariposa  trail,  through  which  we  entered,  passing  Inspiration  Point,  is  at  the 
lower  end.  The  Coultersville  trail  comes  in  at  the  same  end,  but  on  the  opposite 
side.  A  third  passes  near  Glacier  Point,  and  enters  at  the  foot  of  Sentinel  Rock, 
about  midway  up  the  valley,  on  its  eastern  side.  A  fourth  passes  through  Merced 
Gorge,  by  the  Vernal  and  Nevada  Falls ;  and  the  fifth  through  Indian  Canon,  on  the 
west  side,  north  of  Yosemite  Fall.  The  last  is  barely  passable,  and  very  little  used. 
The  Coultersville  and  Mariposa  routes  bring  the  traveler  to  the  valley  by  stage,  but 
the  others  are  little  more  than  a  horse-back  trail,  though  safe  enough  by  this  mode  of 
travel.  The  trail  through  Merced  Gorge,  after  reaching  the  top  of  Nevada  Fall,  crosses 
the  stream  and  the  southern  end  of  the  charming  Little  Yosemite  Valley.  This  valley, 
more  than  two  thousand  feet  above  its  famous  neighbor,  is  one  of  the  many  great 
granite  basins  peculiar  to  the  country.  The  bottom  is  about  three  miles  long,  and 
consists  of  a  pleasant  succession  of  meadows  and  forests,  through  which  flows  the 
Merced  River.  The  sides  are  smooth,  bare  slopes  of  seamless  granite,  ribboned  with 
brown  bands ;  and  here  and  there  are  strange  dome-like  forms,  which  so  much  perplex 
the  geologist.  An  excursion  to  the  little  Yosemite  Valley  is  of  considerable  interest,  but 
demands  several  nights  of  camping  out.  In  places  the  trail  twists  from  right  to  left 
in  sharp  zigzags,  and  is  so  steep  that  the  horse  and  rider  on  the  turn  above  appear 
to  be  directly  overhead.  Within  sight,  the  river  roars  and  tumbles  in  a  succession  of 
cataracts.  On  this  route  we  see  the  beautiful  Vernal  Fall,  which  has  an  unbroken 
plunge  of  four  hundred  feet,  drenching  the  narrow  gorge  with  spray,  and  filling  the 
air  with  rainbow  shimmerings.  To  get  to  the  top  of  the  rock,  over  which  the  fall 


THE   YOSEMITE. 


V 


plunges,  it  is  necessary  to  climb 
long  ladders,  and  here  we  find  a 
broad-basined  rock  and  a  charming 
little  lakelet.  Farther  on  we  cross 
a  slender  bridge,  under  which  is 
Wild-cat  Cataract ;  and  not  much 
beyond  this  Nevada  Fall  comes 
tumbling  over  a  wall  exceeding 
six  hundred  feet  in  height.  All 
about  are  heights  and  depths, 
grand  to  look  up  to,  terrible  to 
look  down  upon. 

Clambering  through  such  scenes 

General  View  of  Yosemite,  from  Summit  of  Cloud's  Best.  for  the  greater  part  of  the  day,  part 

of  the  time  finding  it  necessary  to 

dismount  and  lead  one's  mustang  or  mule,  the  floor  of  the  upper  valley  is  at  last 
reached,  and  a  resting-place  for  the  night  is  gladly  sought  by  the  tired  traveler,  before 
pursuing  his  explorations  further.  Here  we  are  at  an  elevation  greater  than  the  top 
of  Mount  Washington.  The  ascent  to  the  top  of  Cloud's  Kest  is  the  goal  of  ambi- 


476  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

tious  excursionists  who  penetrate  to  the  upper  valley.  This  rises  six  thousand  feet 
above  the  lower  Yosemite  Valley,  or  nearly  ten  thousand  feet  above  the  sea.  The 
ascent  is  easily  made  on  horseback  to  within  a  few  hundred  yards  of  the  summit. 
This  proves  to  be  a  long,  thin  crest  of  granite,  so  piled  with  loose  and  apparently 
insecure  blocks  that  it  needs  no  little  courage  to  walk  between  them.  On  the  one 
side  one  beholds  a  descent  for  hundreds  of  feet ;  on  the  other,  or  west  side,  it  is 
thousands — falling  away  in  an  unbroken  surface  of  granite,  at  an  angle  of  not  less 
than  forty-five  degrees,  and  with  no  obstacle  to  stay  a  falling  body  until  it  should 
reach  the  depths  of  Tenaya  Cafion,  over  a  mile  below. 

From  this  spot  is  a  point  of  vision  where  the  outlook  surpasses  all  others  in  the 
valley  in  comprehensiveness.  To  the  north,  over  intervening  caflons  and  gorges,  the 
sierra  peaks,  with  their  paleness  tinted  with  many  delicate  hues,  rise  sublimely  deso- 
late against  the  cloudless,  somberly  blue  sky.  Their  shoulders  are  clad  with  snow 
and  ice,  and  the  flanks  are  grooved  with  the  scars  of  long-extinct  glaciers.  On  lower 
levels  there  is  a  sparse  growth  of  trees,  which  scarcely  relieves  the  nakedness  of  the 
grim  mountain-sides.  Turning  from  the  sierras,  that  rise  from  three  to  five  thousand 
feet  above  our  point  of  view,  we  look  down  six  thousand  feet  into  the  Yosemite, 
whose  peculiar  trough-like  formation  runs  at  right  angles  to  the  trend  of  the  mount- 
ains. The  familiar  forms  of  the  inclosing  walls,  and  green  groves  and  meadows  of 
the  valley  floor,  upon  which  the  Merced  sparkles,  may  be  plainly  seen,  but  angles  of 
rock  hide  the  waterfalls.  A  glance  at  the  illustration  gives  a  good  ide^  of  the  general 
features  of  the  lower  valley,  as  seen  from  this  point.  The  form  on  the  left,  in  light, 
is  Half  Dome.  On  the  right,  in  the  middle  distance,  is  Sentinel  Dome,  sloping  down 
to  Glacier  Point,  a  small  bit  of  Sentinel  Kock  projecting  just  beyond.  Farther  away 
are  the  Cathedral  Rocks  and  the  Spires.  Opposite  to  them,  on  the  right,  is  El  Capi- 
tan.  Immediately  underneath,  in  the  picture,  is  North  Dome,  sweeping  down  to 
Washington  Column,  and  separated  from  the  Half  Dome  by  Tenaya  Cafion.  The 
Yosemite  Fall  is  to  the  right  and  back  of  the  North  Dome.  The  gorge  of  the  Mer- 
ced and  Nevada  and  Vernal  Falls  is  to  the  left  and  back  of  Half  Dome.  Bridal  Veil 
Fall  is  back  of  the  Cathedral  Rocks,  away  in  the  distance. 

Some  years  not  less  than  four  thousand  visitors  come  and  go  between  May  and 
October,  the  throng  representing  every  nation  and  class  of  people  on  the  globe.  There 
are  now  a  number  of  excellent  hotels,  where  good  accommodation  may  be  had  at  a 
reasonable  price,  considering  the  great  expense  and  difficulty  of  getting  supplies  in 
this  remote  region.  Saloons  have  been  opened  by  enterprising  individuals,  and  the 
visitor  may  enjoy  his  cocktail  here  as  well  as  in  San  Francisco  or  New  York. 
While  the  primitive  grandeur  of  the  scenery  remains  unchanged,  one  may  now  see 
it  under  the  most  pleasant  conditions.  A  telegraph  connects  the  Yosemite  with  the 
outer  world,  and  it  only  remains  that  a  railway  should  be  completed  to  the  place  to 
make  a  tour  to  this  famous  spot  as  easy  as  to  Niagara  Falls. 


A  Live-Oak  on  the  Ashley. 

THE  LOWLANDS  OF  THE  SOUTH. 

South  Carolina  scenery — Early  settlements  of  the  State — Charleston — The  rice- culture — Savannah — Characteristics 
of  a  lovely  Southern  city — The  lowlands  of  Alabama — The  forest-wilderness  of  Pascagoula — The  mouth  of  the 
Mississippi — Romantic  history  of  the  Father  of  Waters — The  Mississippi  below  New  Orleans — The  cypress- 
swamps— New  Orleans,  the  "  Queen  of  the  South" — Sketches  of  life  in  New  Orleans— Mississippi  navigation — The 
magnolia-forests  and  Spanish  moss — The  sugar-plantations — Characteristic  impressions  of  the  lower  Mississippi — 
Inundations  and  crevasses — The  cotton  industry. 

THE  lowlands  of  our  Southern  country  have  their  distinctive  charm  as  well  as  the 
mountain-region  which  so  proudly  lifts  itself  toward  the  clouds.  Certainly  in  the 
historic  and  human  element,  which,  after  all,  has  so  powerful  an  influence  in  deter- 
mining our  impressions  even  of  scenery,  the  low-country  is  unspeakably  more  interest- 
ing. Let  us  make  a  rapid  tour  through  these  portions  of  the  South,  sure  in  the 
anticipation  that  we  shall  find  a  great  fund  of  amusement  and  instruction  even  in  a 
passing  glance,  which  necessarily  overlooks  many  a  scene  worthy  of  study. 


478  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

Beginning  with  South  Carolina,  we  shall  find  a  kind  of  scenery  alike  varied  and 
semi-tropical.  Prom  the  sea  the  marshes  or  savannas,  stretching  back  seventy  miles 
from  the  coast,  seem  perfectly  level ;  but  there  are  in  many  places  bluffs  or  eminences 
crowned  with  delicate  foliage.  A  vast  panorama — of  fat  meadows  watered  by  creeks ; 
of  salt  and  fresh  marshes ;  of  swamp-lands  of  inexhaustible  fertility,  from  which 
spring  the  sugar-cane  and  cypress ;  of  the  rich  firm  soil,  where  the  oak  and  hickory 
stand  in  solid  columns,  and  of  barrens  studded  with  thousands  of  young  pines — 
salutes  the  eye.  The  innumerable  branches  which  penetrate  the  low-lying  lands  from 
the  sea  have  formed  a  kind  of  checker-work  of  island  and  estuary.  The  forests  along 
the  banks  of  the  stream  and  scattered  between  the  marshes  are  beautiful.  The  laurel, 
the  bay,  the  palmetto,  the  beech,  the  dogwood,  and  the  cherry  are  overgrown  with 
wanton,  luxuriant  vines,  which  straggle  across  the  aisles  where  the  deer  and  the  fox 
still  wander.  In  the  spring  the  jasmine  and  the  cherry  fill  the  air  with  the  per- 
fume of  their  blossoms ;  in  winter  the  noble  oaks  in  their  garments  of  moss,  and  the 
serried  pines,  preserve  the  verdure  which  the  other  trees  have  lost,  and  give  to  the 
landscape  an  aspect  of  life  and  beauty.  When  the  rice-plantations  are  submerged,  and 
the  green  plants  are  just  showing  their  heads  above  the  water,  and  nodding  and  sway- 
ing beneath  the  slight  breeze  passing  over  the  hundreds  of  acres,  the  effect  is  inde- 
scribably novel  and  beautiful. 

Port  Royal  was  the  scene  of  the  first  settlement  in  South  Carolina,  and  was  there- 
fore the  first-cousin  of  Plymouth  Eock  in  Massachusetts.  Indeed,  the  motive  of  the 
settlement  was  nearly  parallel.  Admiral  Coligny  foresaw  the  time  when  the  oppressed 
Huguenots  would  need  a  place  of  shelter,  and  it  was  his  emissary,  Jean  Ribault,  who, 
with  a  band  of  hardy  seamen  and  men-at-arms,  sailed  northward  from  the  blooming 
coast  of  Florida,  and  anchored  in  the  harbor  at  the  mouth  of  the  broad  Yemassee 
River,  which  is  more  like  an  estuary  than  a  river.  They  named  it  and  the  river 
emptying  therein,  Port  Royal.  To-day  the  little  settlement  made  by  the  adventurous 
Frenchman  has  nothing  to  mark  it,  not  even  the  remains  of  the  fort  he  built.  In 
the  sixteenth  century  the  country  claimed  by  the  Spaniards  as  Florida,  and  by  the 
French  as  New  France,  was  supposed  to  extend  from  the  Chesapeake  to  the  Tortugas 
along  the  coast,  and  -inland  as  far  as  any  settlements  could  be  planted  and  defended. 
So  for  many  years  South  Carolina  and  Florida  had  a  history  in  common. 

The  development  of  South  Carolina  as  an  English  province  began  after  the  resto- 
ration of  Charles  II.  The  country  was  granted  to  a  proprietary  government  under 
the  royal  charter,  and  the  constitution  under  which  the  colonists,  who  were  all  of  the 
better  class,  lived,  was  framed  by  the  celebrated  John  Locke.  The  province  was  sub- 
divided into  counties,  seigniories,  baronies,  precincts,  and  colonies.  Each  seigniory, 
barony,  and  colony  consisted  of  twelve  thousand  acres,  and  it  was  provided  that  after 
a  certain  term  of  years  the  proprietors  should  not  have  power  to  alienate  or  make 
over  their  proprietorship,  but  that  it  "should  descend  unto  their  heirs  male."  Thus 
was  laid  a  good  foundation  for  a  landed  aristocracy,  for  no  one  could  hold  land  in 
the  province  except  under  authority  from  the  lords  proprietors.  A  large  accession 


THE  LOWLANDS  OF  THE  SOUTH. 


479 


came  to  the  colony  through  the  revocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes  in  France,  which 
sent  hundreds  of  Huguenots  to  South  Carolina,  and  from  these  original  emigres  are 
descended  many  of  the  best  South  Carolinian  families. 


(rlwnpse  of  Charleston  and  Bay. 

One  hundred  years  after  the  charter  was  granted  by  Charles  II,  Carolina  had 
arisen  to  considerable  commercial  eminence.  The  principal  settlements  then  were 
Charleston,  Beaufort,  Pury'sburg,  Jacksonborough,  Dorchester,  Camden,  and  Georgetown. 


480  OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 

The  white  population  of  the  province  was  about  forty  thousand  ;  that  of  the  negroes 
about  ninety  thousand.  The  Carolinian  colonists  were  known  in  England,  above  all 
the  other  settlers  in  the  New  World,  for  their  wealth,  luxurious  living,  and  high 
spirit.  It  was  said  that  there  were  a  larger  number  of  people  with  property  amount- 
ing to  five  or  ten  thousand  pounds  sterling  in  the  province  than  could  be  found 
elsewhere  in  the  same  population.  They  were  then  characterized  by  the  same  qualities 
for  which  they  have  since  been  distinguished — social  pride,  extravagant  personal 
habits,  martial  spirit,  and  generous  hospitality.  The  province  readily  obtained  un- 
bounded credit.  The  staples  it  produced  were  of  great  value,  and  agriculture  and 
trade  were  constantly  enlarged  by  the  importation  of  ship-loads  of  negroes.  A  little 
before  the  time  of  the  American  Kevolutiou  the  exports  from  Carolina  in  a  single 
year  amounted  to  seven  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  pounds  sterling.  Such  was  South 
Carolina  before  the  Revolution  ;  and  what  this  proud  State  has  been  since,  what  im- 
portant place  it  has  occupied  in  making  our  history  from  1776  to  1861,  is  too  familiar 
to  be  mentioned. 

The  destruction  which  came  to  Port  Royal  Island  and  its  principal  town,  Beaufort, 
one  of  the  most  delightful  sea-side  resorts  of  the  South,  during  the  late  war,  are  well 
known  ;  and  now  only  the  slouching,  indolent  negro  lounges  in  the  sun,  where  once 
his  late  master  lived  in  luxury.  But  let  us  turn  from  this  sad  picture  of  ruin  and 
desolation,  which  the  returning  prosperity  of  the  State  has  not  yet  healed,  and  make 
a  visit  to  Charleston,  the  principal  town  of  the  State,  and  a  beautiful  city,  in  spite 
of  what  it  suffered  less  than  twenty  years  since  from  the  misfortunes  of  war. 

Very  charming  is  the  old  city  nestling  on  the  waters,  swan-like,  at  the  confluence 
of  the  broad  Ashley  and  Cooper  Rivers,  and  fronting  on  the  spacious  harbor  over 
whose  entrance  the  scarred  and  historic  Fort  Sumter  keeps  watch  and  ward.  The 
city  lies  so  low,  and  seems  so  literally  to  rise  out  of  the  waters,  that  the  name  of  the 
"  American  Venice  "  has  been  given  to  it.  From  the  harbor  the  effect  is  very  striking. 
The  long,  palm-studded  shores  of  the  bay,  the  islands  and  forts  that  dot  its  surface, 
the  mansions  that  front  the'  waters,  and  the  spires  that  lift  to  the  skies,  make  up 
a  very  effective  picture.  The  first  impression  of  the  city  itself  is  peculiar.  There 
are  no  splendid  avenues,  nor  many  public  buildings — only  a  few  fine  old  churches,  and 
many  noble  private  mansions  standing  in  a  sort  of  dingy  stateliness  amid  bowers  of 
magnolias  and  other  flowering  shrubbery.  The  glare  and  smartness  of  Northern  cities 
are  absent,  but  in  their  place  we  notice  a  somber,  rich  tone,  such  as  comes  of  time 
and  hereditary  respectability,  marking  the  aspect  of  all  the  better  houses.  The  old 
Charleston  mansions  were  always  built  with  the  gable-end  to  the  street.  On  one 
side  rises  a  tier  of  open  verandas,  in  the  lower  of  which  the  main  entrance  is  placed. 
Generally  the  grounds  are  inclosed  by  a  high  brick  wall,  and  through  an  open  gate- 
way one  may  catch  a  glimpse  of  flowers,  shrubs,  and  vines  that  bloom  within  the  in- 
closure.  The  rich  dark  green  of  the  magnolia  half  screens  the  unsmoothed  brick  walls 
far  above,  and  seems  to  hold  the  venerable  structure  in  the  hush  of  deep  repose. 
The  residence  streets  of  the  Palmetto  City  on  the  side  next  the  Ashley  River  are 


THE  LOWLANDS   OF  THE  SOUTH. 


481 


peculiarly  picturesque  and  attractive.  They  are 
always  bordered  by  beautiful  gardens.  A  laby- 
rinth of  long  wooden  piers  and  wharves  runs 
out  on  the  lagoons  and  inlets  near  the  Ashley, 
and  the  boasted  resemblance  of  Charleston  to 
Venice  is  doubtless  founded  on  the  perfect  illu- 
sion produced  by  a  view  of  that  section  from  a 
distance.  The  magnificent  and  the  mean,  how- 
ever, jostle  each  other  at  very  close  quarters. 

Let  us  climb  to  the  top  of  some  high  build- 
ing, such  as  the  Orphan  Asylum,  toward  the 
hour  of  sunset  on  a  pleasant  evening,  and  get 
a  panoramic  glimpse  of  the  sea-girdled  city. 
On  the  sea-front  stretches  the  Battery,  one  of 
the  most  delightful  and  airy  promenades  in  any 
American  city,  while  the  streets  leading  to  it 
are  curious  and  striking.  Beyond  there  is  the 
far  stretch  of  the  sea  and  the  long,  low  shores. 
Far  down  the  harbor  is  Fort  Sumter,  and  near- 
er is  Fort  Pinckney,  standing  guard  over  the 
direct  approach  to  the  town.  The-  mass  of 
buildings  which  offer  themselves  to  the  view 
have  the  queer  roofs  and  strangely  shaped  chim- 
neys which  remind  us  of  Antwerp  or  Am- 
sterdam. In  every  way  the  view  is  odd  and 
old-fashioned,  except  where  the  new  buildings 
recently  erected  obtrude  their  more  modern 
physiognomies.  There  are  many  interesting 
churches  of  a  quaint  old  type  in  Charleston, 
and  on  some  of  them,  particularly  the  Hugue- 
not, are  interesting  ancient  inscriptions.  But 
perhaps  the  greatest  attraction  to  the  visitor  is 
the  lowland  character  of  the  suburbs.  The  city 
is  situated  at  the  confluence  of  the  Cooper  and 
Ashley  Rivers,  and  the  banks  of  these  streams 
have  all  the  characteristics  of  Southern  land- 
scapes. Oaks,  magnolias,  jasmines,  and  myrtles 
give  splendor  and  profusion  to  the  picture,  while 
rice  and  cotton  fields  enrich  and  vary  the  pict- 
ure. The  main  road  from  Charleston  into  the 
country  is  an  avenue  of  remarkable  beauty. 
The  road  emerges  from  Charleston  almost  im- 


482  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

mediately  into  a  green  wilderness,  and  for  a  long  distance  it  is  canopied  by  the 
boughs  of  pines,  oaks,  and  magnolias  with  rich  effect.  There  are  no  signs  along  the 
road  of  the  close  proximity  of  a  great  city.  You  seem  a  hundred  miles  from  any 
town.  The  live-oak  of  the  Southern  lowlands  is  the  most  picturesque  of  trees.  It 
is  famous  not  merely  on  account  of  its  magnitude,  but  from  its  quaint,  fantastic, 
picturesque  form.  A  large  tree  of  this  kind  is  in  its  shape  and  character  a  study 
for  an  artist.  Lifting  the  long,  low  branches  that  sweep  almost  to  the  ground,  you 
seem  to  be  in  a  vast  forest  cathedral.  The  quaint  trunk  is  covered  with  knobbed 
protuberances,  and  scarred  and  seamed  as  if  with  the  marks  of  many  centuries.  The 
branches,  mammoth  trees  of  themselves,  shoot  out  at  a  low  elevation  in  a  nearly 
horizontal  line,  extending  probably  a  hundred  feet,  dipping  at  their  extremities  to 
the  ground.  The  pendent  moss  from  every  bough  hangs  in  long,  sweeping  lines, 
and  the  sun  flickers  through  the  upper  branches,  touching  up  moss,  bough,  and 
trunk,  and  relieving  the  gloom  of  the  interior  with  bright  flashes  of  light.  Many  a 
noble  estate,  celebrated  for  its  live-oak  avenues,  in  the  near  neighborhood  of  Charles- 
ton, was  laid  in  almost  irretrievable  waste  during  the  late  war.  The  magnolia  shares 
pre-eminence  with  the  live-oak  as  a  decorative  element  in  the  landscape  of  the  sub- 
urbs of  Charleston,  and  a  rich  profusion  of  flowering  creepers  and  shrubs  fills  in  the 
picture  with  a  wealth  of  color  and  perfume  which,  to  be  appreciated,  must  be  expe- 
rienced. 

One  of  the  most  valuable  and  interesting  industries  of  South  Carolina  is  found 
in  its  rice-plantations.  And  it  is  on  the  rice  and  cotton  regions  of  the  sea-board 
counties,  too,  that  the  stranger  finds  some  of  the  most  striking  and  curious  phases 
of  South  Carolina  life,  for  it  is  here  that  the  Southern  negro  presents  his  most  bar- 
baric type.  The  lowland  negro  of  South  Carolina  has  a  dialect  which  influences  of 
life  in  America  have  hardly  impressed  at  all.  English  words  tumble  from  his  mouth 
with  such  an  uncouth  enunciation,  and  are  so  mixed  with  African  terms,  that  it  is 
nearly  impossible  to  understand  him.  The  thick,  mumbling  tones  sound  more  like  the 
cries  of  a  wild  animal  than  of  a  human  being.  These  negroes  have  the  strangest 
religious  ceremonies  and  superstitions,  and  voudooism  has  a  far  stronger  hold  than 
Christianity  even  among  those  professing  to  be  pious.  They  have  changed  but  little 
since  slavery  days,  though  they  have  learned  that  the  franchise  is  a  great  power.  The 
degradation  of  the  lowland  negro  of  the  rice  and  cotton  region  is  specially  instanced 
in  the  fact  that  the  marriage  relation  is  almost  unknown,  and  that  men  and  women 
living  together  are  called  man  and  wife,  in  many  cases  one  negro  having  several  wives. 
In  no  part  of  the  South  does  the  black  man  show  the  features  of  his  primitive  Afri- 
can state  so  vividly  as  on  the  coast-region  of  South  Carolina. 

Rice-culture  has  been  the  prominent  industry  of  the  State  since  the  days  of  pro- 
prietary government,  more  than  two  centuries  ago.  With  the  determination  of  the 
planters  to  make  rice  the  principal  object  of  their  care,  came  the  necessity  for  import- 
ing great  numbers  of  slaves,  and  the  sacrifice  of  hundreds  of  lives  in  the  arduous  toil 
of  clearing  the  ground  and  preparing  the  soil.  The  cypress-swamps  gave  place  to 


THE  LOWLANDS  OF  THE  SOUTH. 


483 


fields  of  waving  green,  and  the  rivers  were  diverted  from  their  channels  to  flood  the 
vast  expanse  in  which  the  negroes  had  set  the  seeds.  The  rice-culture  and  the 
slave  system  were  peculiarly  associated,  as  no  other  crop  raised  demands  such  severe 
labor  and  such  dangerous  exposure.  Before  the  outbreak  of  the  late  war  there  were 
more  than  a  million  acres  of  rice-land  in  cultivation,  but  at  the  present  time  the 
area  is  much  less,  for  it  is  not  easy  to  get  the  black  man  to  engage  in  a  kind  of  cul- 
tivation which  he  so  peculiarly  detests.  Still,  there  are  many  rice-plantations  cover- 
ing thousands  of  acres,  and  single  planters  sometimes  employ  from  five  to  eight  hun- 
dred hands.  Let  us  take  a  glance  at  a  rice-plantation  among  the  low-lying  lands  of 
the  South  Carolina  sea-coast  at  the  harvest-time.  We  find  a  wide  expanse  of  fields 
cut  into  squares  by  open  trenches,  through  which  water  from  the  river  is  admitted  to 
every  part  of  the  land,  for  the  vicinity  of  a  river  is  an  indispensable  fact  to  the 


Unloading  Rice  Bargti. 

culture  of  rice.  The  breeze  blows  musically  among  the  tall  canes  along  the  banks 
of  the  stream,  in  whose  sedgy  recesses  hide  the  alligator  and  the  serpent.  Perhaps 
in  the  distance  an  antlered  deer  breaks  cover,  and  stands  for  a  moment  scanning  the 
horizon  before  taking  flight.  In  the  far  distance  a  white  sail  may  be  discerned, 
perhaps,  as  a  schooner  works  her  way  into  the  mouth  of  the  river  on  the  route  to 
the  rice-fields ;  and  long  processions  of  black  boys  and  girls  may  be  seen  with  baskets 
on  their  heads  and  the  most  horrid  jargon  in  their  mouths,  who  are  waiting  to  load 
the  rice.  A  rice-plantation  is  a  great  hydraulic  machine  maintained  by  constant 
warring  against  the  water.  The  utmost  vigilance  is  necessary,  and  labor  must  be 
ready  at  a  moment's  notice  for  the  most  exhaustive  efforts.  Alternate  flooding  and 
draining  take  place  several  times  during  a  season,  and  one  part  of  a  crop  must  be 
flooded  while  adjacent  portions  are  dry.  Fields  are  divided  into  sections,  and  trunks 


484  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

or  canals  convey  water  from  the  river  separately.  The  whole  apparatus  of  locks,  flood- 
gates, canals,  banks,  and  ditches,  is  of  the  most  extensive  kind.  The  slightest  leak 
in  the  dikes  might  easily  ruin  a  whole  plantation,  and  the  "  trunk  -minders,"  or 
watchmen,  are  constantly  on  the  alert  to  discover  the  first  sign  of  danger. 

Harvest  is  hardly  completed  by  March,  when  the  sowing  begins  again.  The 
trunks  are  opened  in  each  section  the  day  on  which  the  seed  is  planted,  and  the  fields 
are  flooded.  The  mules  that  drag  the  plows  through  the  marshes  are  booted  with 
leather  contrivances  to  prevent  them  from  sinking  in  the  treacherous  black  ooze.  In 
autumn  the  fields  are  yellowish,  tinged  here  and  there  with  green,  where  young  rice 
is  springing  up  from  the  shoots  recently  cut  down.  The  rice  is  piled  up  in  ricks, 
when  cut,  and  swarms  of  birds  carry  away  large  quantities.  A  rice-plantation  during 
harvest-time  is  a  lively  scene.  The  men  and  women  work  in  the  different  sections 
under  field  -  masters.  The  women,  with  their  naked  feet  and  half-bare  limbs,  their 
heads  wrapped  in  bandannas  showing  all  the  hues  of  the  rainbow,  fill  the  air  with 
the  dissonance  of  their  uncouth  jargon,  and  stagger  in  and  out  of  the  marshes  with  a 
weight  of  rice-stalks  on  their  heads  rivaling  that  carried  by  the  men.  In  the  field, 
at  the  thrashing-mill,  at  the  winnowing-machine,  among  the  great  rice-stacks,  where 
packing,  sorting,  and  unloading  from  barges  are  going  on,  both  sexes  show  the  same 
coarse,  brutish,  and  densely  animal  types  of  faces.  Such  is  a  picture  of  life  in  the 
South  Carolina  low-country,  and  it  is  not  essentially  different  from  the  characteristics 
of  old  slavery  times,  though  the  system  of  labor  has  been  changed. 

One  of  the  most  beautiful  rivers  of  the  South  is  the  Savannah,  which  forms  the 
boundary  between  South  Carolina  and  Georgia.  From  its  source,  high  up  in  the 
mountains  of  the  interior,  it  flows  four  hundred  and  fifty  miles  to  the  sea.  For 
about  a  hundred  miles  from  its  mouth,  the  Savannah  runs  through  a  low  country  of 
great  beauty  and  fertility,  embracing  much  of  the  best  rice  and  cotton  land  of  the 
South.  The  wild  swamp-wastes  that  mark  its  lower  shores  are  full  of  a  strange, 
weird  beauty,  and  the  groves  of  massive  live-oaks,  hung  with  their  mossy  banners 
that  shadow  and  conceal  the  mansions  of  the  planters,  have  a  most  captivating  grace. 
Below  the  city  of  Savannah,  which  is  eighteen  miles  from  the  mouth,  the  traveler  is 
struck  with  the  wide  expanse  of  grass-clad  salt-marsh,  through  which  the  river  mean- 
ders, forming  many  islands,  but  preserving  at  all  times  ample  width  for  the  passage 
of  vessels  of  the  largest  class.  The  city  of  Savannah,  being  in  latitude  thirty-three 
degrees,  and  so  near  the  Gulf  Stream  as  to  be  within  reach  of  its  atmospheric  current, 
has  all  the  mildness  of  the  tropics  in  winter,  without  the  intense  heat  in  summer  — 
the  mean  temperature  being  about  that  of  the  Bermuda  Islands.  The  sultriness  of 
the  heated  term  in  Savannah'  is  less  oppressive  than  in  New  York,  being  mitigated 
by  a  soft,  humid  atmosphere  and  the  never-failing  breath  of  the  trade  -  winds.  For 
Northern  invalids  the  climate  of  Savannah,  with  the  conveniences  and  comfort  of  city 
life,  is  regarded  by  many  as  preferable  to  sanitary  retreats  farther  south.  The  city 
occupies  a  promontory  of  land  rising  on  a  bold  bluff  about  forty  feet  in  height  close 
to  the  river,  extending  along  its  south  bank  for  about  a  mile,  and  backward,  widening 


THE  LOWLANDS   OF  THE  SOUTH. 


485 


''IBM*  *"*  '    -  i  t---     r:  v  •••'  r'l^V      'fix     •'•t-iWJ      • 


as  it  recedes,  about  six  miles.  The  water- 
front of  the  city  is  about  two  miles  and 
a  half  long,  in  the  form  of  an  elongated 
crescent.  The  city  is  rapidly  growing, 
and  is  one  of  the  most  prosperous  places 
in  the  South.  In  its  general  plan,  Sa- 
vannah is  one  of  the  handsomest  of  Amer- 
ican cities  ;  and,  in  view  of  its  antiquity 
and  the  fact  that  its  founders  were,  for 

the  most  part,  poor  refugees  seeking  a  home  in  the  wilderness  among  hostile  savages, 
it  is  a  matter  of  surprise  that  they  should  have  adopted  a  plan  at  once  so  unique, 
tasteful,  and  practical.  The  streets,  running  nearly  east  and  west  and  north  and 


On  the  Savannah  River. 


486 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


south,  are  of  various  widths  and  cross  each  other  at  right  angles,  the  very  wide  streets, 
which  run  east  and  west,  being  alternated  with  parallel  narrower  streets,  and  each 
block  intersected  with  lanes  twenty-two  and  a  half  feet  in  width.  The  streets  run- 
ning north  and  south  are  of  nearly  uniform  width,  every  alternate  street  passing  on 
either  side  of  small  public  squares,  or  plazas,  varying  from  one  and  a  half  to  three 
acres  in  extent,  which  are  bounded  on  the  north  and  south  by  the  narrower  streets, 
and  intersected  in  the  center,  also,  by  a  wide  street.  These  plazas — twenty-four  in 


A  Savannah  Street-Scene. 

number,  located  at  equal  distances  through  the  city,  handsomely  inclosed,  laid  out  in 
walks,  and  planted  with  the  evergreen  and  ornamental  trees  of  the  South — are  among 
the  distinguishing  features  of  Savannah ;  and  in  the  spring  and  summer  months, 
when  they  are  carpeted  with  grass,  and  the  trees  and  shrubbery  are  in  full  flower 
and  foliage,  they  afford  delightful  shady  walks,  as  well  as  play-grounds  for  the  juve- 
niles, while  they  are  not  only  ornamental,  but  are  conducive  to  the  general  health  of 
the  people. 


THE  LOWLANDS   OF  THE  SOUTH.  487 

Among  the  peculiar  features  of  Savannah  which  command  the  admiration  of  strangers 
are  the  wideness  of  its  principal  streets,  abounding  with  shade-trees,  and  the  flower- 
gardens  which,  in  the  portions  of  the  city  allotted  to  private  residences,  are  attached 
to  almost  every  house.  Ornamental  trees  of  various  species,  mostly  evergreens,  occupy 
the  public  squares  and  stud  the  sidewalks  in  all  the  principal  thoroughfares ;  while 
the  gardens  abound  with  ornamental  shrubbery  and  flowers  of  every  variety.  Conspic- 
uous among  the  former  are  the  orange-tree,  with  its  fragrant  blossoms  and  golden 
fruit  in  their  season  ;  the  banana,  which  also  bears  its  fruit ;  the  magnolia,  the  bay,  the 
cape-myrtle,  the  stately  palmetto,  the  olive,  the  arbor-vitaa,  the  flowering  oleander,  and 
the  pomegranate.  Flowers  are  cultivated  in  the  open  air,  many  choice  varieties — queen 
among  them  all,  the  beautiful  Camellia  Japonica,  which  flourishes  here  in  greatest  per- 
fection, the  shrub  growing  to  a  height  of  twelve  to  fifteen  feet — blooming  in  mid- 
winter. During  most  of  the  year,  Savannah  is  literally  embowered  in  shrubbery  ;  and 
in  the  early  spring  months,  when  the  annuals  resume  their  foliage  and  the  evergreens 
shed  their  darker  winter  dress  for  the  delicate  green  of  the  new  growth,  the  aspect  of 
the  city  is  truly  novel  and  beautiful,  justly  entitling  it  to  the  appropriate  sobriquet  by 
which  it  has  long  been  known,  far  and  wide,  of  the  "Forest  City." 

The  old  city  of  Oglethorpe's  time  was  located  on  the  brow  of  the  bluff,  about  mid- 
way between  the  present  eastern  and  western  suburbs,  and  its  boundaries  are  still  de- 
fined by  the  Bay,  and  East,  West,  and  South  Broad  Streets.  Upon  the  river-front,  a 
wide  esplanade,  about  two  hundred  feet  in  width,  extending  back  from  the  brink  of 
the  bluff,  was  preserved  for  public  purposes.  This  is  called  the  Bay,  and  is  now  the 
great  commercial  mart  of  Savannah.  As  commerce  grew  up,  warehouses  and  shipping- 
offices  were  built  by  the  first  settlers,  under  the  bluff,  between  it  and  the  river.  In 
time  these  were  replaced  by  substantial  brick  and  stone  structures,  rising  four  and  five 
stories  high  on  the  river-front,  with  one  or  two  stories  on  the  front  facing  the  Bay, 
connecting  with  the  top  of  the  bluff  by  wooden  platforms,  which  spanned  the  narrow 
roadway  beneath,  passing  between  the  buildings  and  the  hill-side.  Some  of  these  build- 
ings, spared  by  the  great  fire  of  1820,  which  consumed  the  larger  portion  of  the  old 
town,  are  interesting  for  their  antique  and  quaint  architecture. 

Among  many  beautiful  suburbs  of  Savannah,  Bonaventure  Cemetery  engages  the  in- 
terest more  than  any  other.  This  is  located  about  four  miles  from  the  city,  on  War- 
saw River,  an  estuary  connecting  with  the  Savannah,  and  the  scenery  of  it  has  long 
been  noted  for  its  Arcadian  beauty.  A  hundred  years  ago  it  was  the  seat  of  a  wealthy 
English  gentleman,  and  the  grounds  around  the  mansion,  of  which  only  a  dim  tracery 
of  the  foundation  remains,  were  laid  out  in  wide  avenues  and  planted  with  native  live- 
oaks.  These  trees,  long  since  fully  grown,  stand  like  massive  columns  on  either  side, 
while  their  far-reaching  branches  interlacing  overhead  like  the  frilled  roof  of  some  vast 
cathedral,  the  deep  shade  of  their  evergreen  foliage  shutting  out  the  sky  above,  and 
the  long  gray  moss-drapery  depending  from  the  leafy  canopy,  silent  and  still,  or  gently 
moving  in  the  breeze,  give  to  the  scene  a  weird  and  strangely  somber  aspect  at  once 
picturesque  and  grandly  solemn.  Many  years  ago  Bonaventure  was  devoted  to  the  pur- 


488  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

pose  for  which  it  is  so  peculiarly  fitted  by  nature,  and  became  the  burial-place  of  many 
of  the  prominent  families  of  Savannah,  whose  memorial  monuments  add  to  its  solemn 
beauty.  Recently  the  place  has  been  purchased  by  a  company,  by  whom  it  has  been 
inclosed,  the  trees  trimmed,  the  grounds  cleared  of  their  rank  growth,  laid  out  in  lots, 
and  opened  to  the  public  as  a  cemetery.  In  this  operation  much  of  the  wild  beauty 
of  Bonaventure  has  been  literally  trimmed  away,  thus  demonstrating  the  fact  that,  in 
the  picturesque  at  least,  it  is  not  always  in  the  power  of  art  to  improve  upon  nature. 

Savannah  is  not  only  the  principal  city  of  Georgia,  but  one  of  the  great  lowland 
cities  of  the  South,  and  probably  nowhere  among  our  Southern  Atlantic  and  Gulf  cit- 
ies can  be  found  a  more  charming  and  highly  cultivated  social  life.  It  suffered  less 
by  the  late  civil  war  than  most  of  the  important  Southern  cities,  and  it  has  grown  and 
improved  surprisingly  during  the  last  decade  and  a  half.  It  is  one  of  the  great  cot- 
ton and  rice  marts,  and  the  enterprise  of  the  State  of  Georgia,  which  has  always  been 
known  as  the  "Yankee  State  of  the  South,"  is  well  represented  in  the  energy  and 
activity  of  its  business  interests. 

'  As  Georgia  is  divided  into  the  mountainous  region  which  characterizes  the  central 
and  upper  parts  of  the  State  and  the  lush  lowlands  adjacent  to  the  sea,  so  Alabama 
separates  itself  into  the  breezy  uplands  of  the  interior  and  the  low  country  lying  on 
the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  though  a  long,  narrow  stretch  of  Florida  reduces  the  Gulf  coast 
to  comparatively  short  limits.  Mobile  is  one  of  the  typical  lowland  cities  of  the 
South.  The  lovely  bay  on  which  the  chief  city  of  Alabama  is  located  extends  thirty 
miles  inland  to  the  mouth  of  the  Alabama  River.  The  city  is  bathed  in  an  atmos- 
phere of  sleepy  and  dreamy  quiet,  and  to  the  Northern  stranger  who  visits  it  in  winter 
it  appears  like  a  veritable  lotus-land.  He  finds  a  tropical  luxuriance  of  sunlight  and 
blossom  where  he  had  left  Arctic  rigors  of  snow  and  ice,  and  perfume-laden  breezes 
instead  of  piercing  northwestern  blasts.  Mobile  shares  the  reputation  of  Northern 
Florida  as  a  winter  sanitarium.  The  suburbs  and  country  immediately  surrounding 
the  city  are  exceedingly  attractive.  Groves  of  massive  magnolias  line  the  shores  of  the 
bay,  and  the  roads  are  everywhere  screened  from  the  hot  sun  by  vines,  water-oaks,  and 
pines.  Residences,  from  the  negro's  thatched  hut  to  the  costly  villa,  are  smothered 
with  a  burden  of  flowering  creepers,  and  the  gardens  glow  with  the  most  gorgeous 
colors. 

The  principal  industrial  interest  of  Alabama  is  the  growth  of  cotton,  which  also 
contributes  largely  to  the  commerce  of  Mobile.  A  large  portion  of  the  lands  drained 
by  the  lower  Alabama  and  Tombigbee  Rivers  is  well  adapted  to  the  culture  of  this 
staple,  and  the  light-draught  steamers  bring  down  annually  from  three  to  four  hundred 
thousand  bales.  The  falling  off  in  the  production  of  cotton  in  this  State  is  shown  in 
the  fact  that  in  1860  the  product  was  nearly  a  million  bales.  This  does  not  necessa- 
rily prove  that  Alabama  languishes  in  her  agricultural  interests,  as  a  diversity  of  crops 
now  takes  the  place  of  the  old  monopoly  of  cotton,  the  Southern  farmers  having  learned 
the  lesson  that  a  variety  of  products  is  conducive  to  general  prosperity  as  against 
dependence  on  a  single  interest.  The  timber-region  of  Alabama  comprises  a  belt  ex- 


THE  LOWLANDS   OF  THE  SOUTH.  489 

tending  entirely  across  the  lower  portion  of  the  State,  bordering  on  Florida  and  the 
Gulf.  This  is  rich  in  forests  of  long-leaved  pine,  and  on  the  river  lowlands  grow 
white,  black,  and  Spanish  oaks,  and  the  black  cypress.  In  this  region  the  gathering 
of  naval  stores  is  so  productive  an  industry  that  it  supersedes  the  raising  of  cotton. 
Between  Mobile  and  Pascagoula  Bays  many  settlements  have  sprung  up  within  a  few 
years,  and  enterprising  young  men  from  the  North  and  West  are  sending  millions  of 
feet  of  lumber  to  the  New  Orleans  market.  Land  can  be  purchased  for  a  trifle,  and 
there  are  many  bays  and  estuaries,  where  vessels  from  any  port  in  the  world  can  load 
directly  from  the  saw-mills.  The  line  of  the  Mobile  &  New  Orleans  Kailway,  skirting 
the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  passes  through  this  magnificent  timber-region,  and  spar-cutting 
forms  an  important  branch  of  the  lumbering  industry.  The  country  bordering  Pasca- 
goula Bay,  and  skirting  the  river  of  the  same  name  in  Mississippi,  just  over  the  Ala- 
bama line,  has  long  been  noted  for  its  grand  forests,  which  furnish  the  finest  possible 
material  for  ships'  masts  and  spars  ;  and  the  inhabitants,  even  before  the  war,  under 
the  old  slavery  regime,  were  a  singularly  hard-working,  thrifty,  energetic  class.  The 
Pascagoula  region  is  not  only  distinguished  for  its  valuable  forests,  but  for  the 
abundance  of  its  game.  Deer  range  freely  through  the  pine-lands,  and  they  are  so 
abundant  and  even  tame  that  they  are  frequently  killed  wandering  about  the  cleared 
fields  in  company  with  the  cattle.  Wild-turkeys  too  are  found  in  inexhaustible  abun- 
dance and  tempt  the  ardent  sportsman  by  their  shy  and  cunning  ways,  which  tax  the 
utmost  skill  and  knowledge  on  the  part  of  the  hunter.  The  following  description  of 
the  family  of  a  typical  yeoman  of  this  region  gives  one  a  good  notion  of  life  in  the 
Mississippi  forests  : 

"  His  family  consisted  of  a  wife  and  eighteen  children.  Three  of  them  were  girls, 
whose  average  weight  I  estimated  at  two  hundred  pounds.  They  were  all  performers 
on  the  violin  and  accordeon,  and  were  so  fond  of  dancing  that,  whenever  two  or  three 
spar-cutters  happened  along  to  join  them,  they  '  would  dance  all  night,  till  broad  day- 
light.' Though  abundantly  able  to  live  in  a  manner  allied  to  elegance,  this  family, 
true  to  habits  which  prevail  among  a  large  class  in  the  South,  could  not  appreciate 
the  sensation  of  real  comfort.  With  two  or  three  exceptions,  wooden  benches  were 
used  in  the  place  of  chairs,  one  iron  spoon  answered  for  the  whole  family,  and  the 
mother,  when  at  the  supper-table,  added  the  sugar  or  'short-sweetening'  to  the  coffee 
with  her  fingers,  and  tasted  each  cup,  to  see  if  it  was  right,  before  sending  it  to  its 
proper  destination.  Such  things  as  andirons,  tongs,  and  wash-basins,  were  considered 
useless,  and  the  bedstead  assigned  to  the  guest  was  a  mere  board,  yet  the  sheets  were 
charmingly  fringed  with  cotton  lace,  and  in  their  freshness  did  not  remind  one  of 
those  alluded  to  by  Izaak  Walton.  All  the  family,  excepting  the  parents  and  two 
sons,  were  barefooted,  and  yet  the  dancing  girls  sported  finger-rings  in  abundance, 
and  wore  basque  dresses  of  calico.  Only  two  of  the  eighteen  children  had  ever 
traveled  from  home  as  far  as  Mobile,  and  the  first  crop  knew  not  how  to  read :  the 
second  were  more  fortunate,  for  a  school  had  lately  been  established  in  a  settlement 
about  five  miles  distant,  which  consisted  of  fifteen  scholars,  seven  of  whom  were  the 


490 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


children  of  the  host.      He  was  the  postmaster  for  that  region,   and  the  uncalled-for 
copies  of  certain  weekly  papers  were  used   to  ornament  the  walls  of  the  habitation. 


During  one  of  the  nights  that  I  spent  under  this  roof,  the  'schoolmaster  was  abroad,' 
for  he  had  come  on  a  visit  to  the  planter's  family ;  the  event  was  celebrated  by  a 
jollification  which  beggars  description,  and,  when  he  started  for  his  log-cabin,  which 


THE  LOWLANDS   OF  THE  SOUTH.  491 

was  three  miles  distant,  he  went  alone  through  the  pathless  woods,  carrying  a  gun  in 
one  hand  and  a  pine-torch  in  the  other.  In  the  yard  attached  to  this  house,  pigs, 
dogs,  geese,  and  chickens,  were  abundant,  and  kept  up  a  perpetual  clatter ;  and, 
hanging  from  the  beams,  or  stacked  in  corners,  were  no  less  than  thirteen  guns." 

But,  to  see  the  lowlands  of  the  South  under  their  most  picturesque  and  striking 
conditions,  we  must  visit  Louisiana  and  the  banks  of  the  great  Father  of  Waters, 
which  rolls  its  swift  and  turbid  flood  through  a  region  so  flat  that  it  has  to  be  diked 
for  protection  against  the  mighty  but  treacherous  stream.  For  many  a  long  mile  the 
eye  rests  on  massive  levees  built  up  to  guard  the  rich  lands  adjoining,  and  this  feature 
of  the  Mississippi  through  so  large  a  portion  of  its  length  makes  one  of  the  most 
characteristic  and  suggestive  aspects  for  the  tourist  who  travels  by  steamboat.  Louisi- 
ana, where  the  lowland  scenery  of  the  South  is  seen  in  its  most  luxuriant  and  im- 
pressive aspects,  is  from  the  historic  stand-point  one  of  the  most  interesting  of  States. 
For  a  century  and  a  half  the  region  then  included  in  the  name  was  coveted  by  all 
nations,  sought  for  alike  with  strokes  of  diplomacy  and  the  sword,  by  Spanish,  French, 
and  English.  It  was  the  plaything  of  monarchs  and  the  bait  of  valiant  adventurers, 
and  its  past  is  linked  with  all  that  is  romantic  in  Europe  and  on  the  Western  Con- 
tinent in  the  eighteenth  century.  From  its  vast  limits  was  born  that  sisterhood  of 
Western  and  Southwestern  States  which  now  constitute  so  important  a  portion  of  the 
country  in  extent,  population,  and  wealth  of  production. 

Not  much  more  than  half  a  century  since,  the  frontier  of  Louisiana  extended 
nineteen  hundred  miles.  It  embraced  within  its  limits  a  million  and  a  half  square 
miles,  and  it  was  washed  by  the  Atlantic  and  Pacific  Oceans  as  well  as  by  the  Gulf 
of  Mexico.  From  Bienville  the  first  French  to  Claiborne  the  first  American  gov- 
ernor, the  administration  of  social  and  political  affairs  was  charged  with  strange  and 
romantic  facts,  which  sound  like  fiction  or  melodrama.  So,  too,  fancy  cast  a  weird 
spell  over  the  great  rivers  and  forests,  and  peopled  the  unknown  tropical  vastness 
with  phantasm  and  mystery.  What  wonder  is  it  even  yet  that  the  fragment  which 
still  retains  the  name  of  Louisiana,  forty  thousand  square  miles  of  low  prairie,  alluvial, 
and  sea-marsh,  is  associated  in  our  minds  with  so  much  that  is  unique  and  fascinat- 
ing ?  The  one  great  fact  which  gives  its  special  significance,  both  to  the  physical  and 
social  life  of  Louisiana,  is  that  vast  semi-tropical  flood  which  pours  its  waters  through 
the  State  into  the  Gulf  of  Mexico. 

Just  fifty  years  after  Columbus  discovered  the  Bahamas,  Hernando  de  Soto,  one 
of  the  most  heroic  of  the  Spanish  explorers,  reached  the  banks  of  the  Mississippi 
River,  some  seven  hundred  miles  from  its  mouth,  after  a  long  march  from  Florida, 
with  the  wreck  of  a  once  powerful  force.  More  than  a  century  passed  after  the  dis- 
covery of  the  great  river  before  its  solitudes  were  again  opened  by  the  intrusion  of 
the  white  man.  During  this  time  many  strange  and  terrible  myths  had  grown  up 
about  the  stream — stories  founded  on  the  reports  of  the  returned  companions  of  De 
Soto.  It  was  believed  that  the  great  flood  was  precipitated  into  the  earth  where  its 
outlet  ought  to  be,  and  that  its  banks  were  guarded  by  dragons  and  other  terrible 


492 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


creatures.  These  fictions,  so  agreeable  to  the  spirit  of  the  age,  found  confirmation  in 
the  stories  of  the  Indians  who  lived  on  the  banks  of  the  Fox  and  Illinois  Rivers. 
In  1673  the  daring  monk  Marquette,  after  untold  hardships,  reached  the  shores  of  the 
upper  Mississippi.  His  acute  mind  instantly  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  the  Gulf 


At  the  Mouth  of  the  Ifiegitrippi. 

of  Mexico  could  be  reached  by  continuous  navigation ;  and  the  great  Western  valley 
was  declared,  in  virtue  of  Marquette's  discovery,  to  belong  to  France.  Nine  years 
later,  La  Salle  accomplished  the  predicted  feat,  and  gave  the  name  of  Louisiana  to 
the  territory  adjoining  the  Gulf  and  the  great  river  along  its  entire  length.  When 
he  returned  to  Canada,  La  Salle  fitted  out  an  expedition  to  reach  the  mouth  of  the 


THE  LOWLANDS  OF  THE  SOUTH.  493 

Mississippi  by  sea,  but  he  was  assassinated  by  his  men  in  the  present  Galveston  Bay 
while  he  was  making  his  search.  It  was  left  for  another  Frenchman,  D'Iberville,  to 
discover  the  mouth  of  the  Mississippi  eighteen  years  later.  Instead  of  one  vast  cur- 
rent pouring  into  the  sea,  it  was  found  to  consist  of  numerous  arms  or  passes, 
through  low  swamps  and  islands  formed  by  the  sediment  brought  down  by  the 
water.  This  net-work  of  creeks,  bayous,  and  passes  is  known  as  the  Delta  of  the 
Mississippi,  and  covers  an  area  of  fourteen  thousand  square  miles.  It  is  slowly  ad- 
vancing into  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  by  the  shoaling  caused  by  the  deposition  of  fresh 
sediment  brought  down  by  the  river.  Three  of  the  main  passes  bear  the  titles  of 
the  Southwest,  South,  Northeast,  and  the  fourth  is  called  a  1'Outre. 

The  delta  even  in  its  more  solid  portions  appears  to  be  an  interminable  marsh, 
and  it  is  no  wonder  that  La  Salle  spent  so  much  time  in  vainly  searching  all  along 
the  extensive  line  of  the  Gulf  coast  to  find  the  proper  mouth  of  a  grand  river,  with- 
out ever  suspecting  the  truth.  For  many  miles  before  reaching  the  passes,  the 
muddy  Mississippi  water  tumbles  and  rolls,  clearly  defined  from  the  blue  waters  of 
the  Gulf.  At  last  the  turbid  brown  colors  everything,  and  you  see  before  you,  rising 
up  from  an  endless  level,  a  solitary  light-house  built  at  the  entrance  of  the  South- 
west Pass.  Just  inside  the  Northeast  Pass  is  a  huge  mud-bank,  called  the  Balize. 
Here  during  early  colonial  times  many  of  the  French  and  Spanish  settlers,  impatient 
of  restraint,  and  attracted  by  the  splendid  game  and  fish  as  well  as  by  the  chance 
of  wrecking,  planted  themselves.  It  was  from  these  outlaws  of  the  Balize  that  the 
celebrated  French  smuggler  and  buccaneer,  Lafitte,  drew  a  large  portion  of  his  fol- 
lowing. The  last  half-century  has  utterly  changed  the  Balize  and  its  inhabitants.' 
The  island,  richly  clad  in  green,  is  adorned  with  pleasant  residences,  and  the  pilots 
— for  such  is  the  profession  of  all  the  men — are  celebrated  for  their  bkill  and  the 
beauty  of  their  stanch  little  vessels.  A  long  time  after  the  passes  have  been  entered, 
only  the  practiced  eye  of  the  pilot  can  determine  the  channel,  by  what  appears  a 
regular  current  flowing  on  in  the  general  waste.  As  we  ascend,  the  coarse  grass, 
which  shows  at  the  top  of  the  water,  gets  more  and  more  thick,  and  finally  there 
appear  great  lumps  of  mud  around  which  boils  the  rushing  water.  The  sediment 
of  the  river  has  at  last  obtained  a  foothold.  It  becomes  more  and  more  defined,  and 
finally  we  observe  low  shores,  though  hardly  distinguishable  from  a  mere  swamp,  and 
water-soaked  shrubs,  for  ever  fretted  by  the  lashing  of  the  waves,  lift  their  green  crowns 
above  all.  At  last  you  reach  the  head  of  the  pass,  and  you  see  the  great  stream  in 
all  its  breadth  of  volume,  the  surface  glistening,  if  perchance  the  sun  shines  brightly, 
with  the  hues  of  brass  and  bronze.  Vegetation  more  and  more  asserts  itself,  though  it 
is  not  till  after  passing  Forts  Jackson  and  St.  Philip  that  you  observe  any  striking 
forest-growth.  As  you  approach  within  threescore  miles  of  New  Orleans,  you  find 
the  banks  of  the  river  clearly  defined  above  the  water-level,  and  permanent  signs  of 
cultivation.  Along  the  coast,  as  the  river-banks  are  called,  are  the  gardens  which 
supply  New  Orleans  with  its  vegetables.  Soon  we  notice  large  sugar-plantations  and 
stately  dwelling-houses  with  wide  verandas  picturesquely  embowered  in  a  great  variety 


494 


OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 


A  Cypreee  Swamp. 


THE  LOWLANDS   OF  THE  SOUTH.  495 

of  noble  trees  unknown  in  colder  climates.  Thus  may  be  read,  in  the  trip  from 
Balize  to  New  Orleans,  a  complete  history  of  the  formation  of  the  river-banks — from 
water  to  ooze  ;  from  ooze  to  mud  ;  from  mud  to  soil  ;  from  grass  to  ferns  ;  from 
ferns  to  shrubs  ;  from  shrubs  to  magnificent  forest-trees. 

Chief  among  the  typical  trees  of  the  swamps  of  the  lower  Mississippi  is  the  weird 
and  gloomy  cypress.  Louisiana  rivals  Florida  in  the  abundance  of  its  cypress-growths, 
for  the  tree  needs  abundance  of  warmth,  water,  and  the  richest  possible  soil.  In  these 
semi-tropical  swamps  the  growth  of  this  remarkable  tree  is  often  a  hundred  feet.  The 
base  of  the  trunk  is  covered  with  ooze  and  mud,  and  the  cypress-knees,  which  spring 
up  from  the  roots,  look  like  the  necks  of  bottles,  and  are  as  hard  as  steel.  The  horse- 
man who  attempts  to  cross  a  flooded  cypress-swamp  does  so  at  the  greatest  peril  to  his 
beast,  for  the  floundering  horse  is  almost  sure  to  break  his  legs  against  these  ambushed 
iron  clubs.  The  bark  of  the  tree  is  spongy  and  fibrous,  and  the  trunk  often  attains 
the  height  of  fifty  or  sixty  feet  without  a  single  branch.  The  leaves  of  the  cypress 
are  softly  delicate  and  beautiful,  looking  like  green  silken  fringes,  appearing  in  marked 
contrast  to  the  tree  itself  and  the  gloomy  parentage  of  the  swamp.  So  durable  is 
cypress-wood  that  it  is  said  that  trees,  which  have  been  buried  a  thousand  years, 
retain  every  condition  of  the  perfect  wood.  Through  the  cypress -swsimps  may  also 
be  seen  the  palmetto,  the  green,  spear-like  foliage  of  which  adds  much  to  the  variety 
of  vegetal  appearance  in  these  forest  solitudes. 

Amid  the  immense  swamps,  here  and  there,  are  broad  expanses  of  unsubmerged 
lands.  Here  grow  the  canebrakes,  to  be  lost  in  which  is  nearly  certain  death,  for 
they  form  an  almost  pathless  labyrinth,  in  whose  depths  lurk  disease  and  death.  Then, 
again,  we  meet  open  vistas  of  prairie,  where  the  lush  soil,  open  to  the  influences  of  air 
and  sunlight,  bursts  forth  in  forests  of  live-oak,  the  most  picturesque  of  American  trees. 
In  olden  times,  when  the  United  States  had  a  merchant  marine  of  great  magnitude, 
and  the  use  of  iron  and  steel  for  ship-building  had  not  yet  been  made  practicable, 
•the  live-oaks  of  Florida  and  Louisiana  were  of  much  value  ;  but  they  have  of  late  years 
offered  but  little  inducement  for  the  labors  of  the  wood-cutter  and  lumber-dealer. 

It  is  said  that  Bienville,  the  first  Governor  of  Louisiana,  laid  the  foundations  of 
New  Orleans  on  the  first  solid  ground  he  met  with  in  ascending  the  river.  There 
are  now  fifty  miles'  length  of  excellent  arable  land  below  the  city  ;  but  this  is  the  ac- 
cretion of  a  century  and  a  half,  and,  where  now  are  to  be  seen  smiling  plantations 
and  market  -  gardens,  Bienville  only  saw  a  thick  ooze,  with  here  and  there  a  cypress- 
swamp.  The  approach  to  the  great  metropolis  of  the  South  is  indicated  to  the  trav- 
eler up  the  river  by  abundant  signs.  A  hundred  columns  of  smoke  rise  in  the  air, 
and  large  fleets  of  sailing-vessels  being  towed  to  the  ocean  appear  on  the  river.  Craft 
of  every  sort  line  .the  banks,  and  at  last  the  Crescent  City  appears,  stretching  miles 
away  behind  its  massive  levees,  which,  however,  are  so  often  inefficient  against  the 
assault  of  the  river-god. 

If  the  history  of  the  grand  old  colonial  empire  of  Louisiana  is  full  of  romance, 
that  of  New  Orleans  is  the  very  focus  and  center  of  that  romance.  From  the  very 


496 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


first  the  town  pos- 
sessed a  social  life 
replete  with   the 
chivalrous  graces 
of     the     French 
court,  and  stately 
dames   and   airy, 
beruffled    gentle- 
men promenaded 
in    this    swamp  - 
surrounded,    riv- 
er-imperiled   for- 
tress with  Paris- 
ian elegance  and 
ease.    There  were 
but  few  church- 
es, and  the  colo- 
nists would  gath- 
er   around    great 
wooden  crosses  in 
the  open  air  for 
mass,    and    then 
separate  to  make 
love,  fight  duels, 
go     hunting     in 
the  adjoining  for- 
ests,   and    attend 
dancing-parties 
or  horse-races  as 
they  had  been  in 
the  habit  of  doing 
in  la  belle  France. 
Nowhere   on   the 
North    American 
Continent  did  the 
customs  and   the 
characteristics  of 
the  mother-coun- 
try so  vividly  and 
exactly  impress 
themselves   as   in 
the    infant     me- 


THE  LOWLANDS   OF  THE   SOUTH.  497 

tropolis  of  New  Orleans.  Along  the  river,  for  many  miles  beyond  the  city,  French 
noblemen  established  great  plantations,  and  lived  lives  of  lordly  ease  and  indulgence. 
To-day  there  is  many  a  French  Creole  planter  who  traces  his  line  to  the  greatest  fami- 
lies of  Old  France.  During  the  thirty  years  that  preceded  the  cession  of  Louisiana 
to  Spain,  New  Orleans  grew  to  be  a  thriving  and  bustling  town,  wonderfully  pict- 
uresque in  its  life  and  surroundings.  During  the  period  of  Spanish  domination  its 
French  characteristics  were  modified  but  not  essentially  altered.  The  narrow,  bigoted, 
melancholy  traits  of  the  Spaniard  have  left  as  their  memorials  those  many-balconied, 
thick-walled  houses  which  exist  in  some  old  parts  of  the  city,  and  impress  the  visitor 
as  so  quaint.  During  the  Spanish  occupation  there  was  such  serious  collision  between 
the  two  sets  of  inhabitants,  so  much  bitter  hate  of  the  new-comers  on  the  part  of  the 
French,  that  the  Spanish  garrison  existed  as  a  fortified  camp,  in  perpetual  fear  of  an 
uprising,  and  with  frowning  cannon  trained  on  the  city  ready  for  instant  use.  Still, 
Spanish  society  and  civilization  have  impressed  themselves  on  the  local  patois,  which 
is  the  vernacular  of  the  negroes  and  a  large  portion  of  the  poorer  whites. 

New  Orleans,  with  all  the  prosaic  changes  wrought  into  her  social  fabric,  still  re- 
mains one  of  the  most  picturesque  cities  in  the  New  World  ;  and  the  stranger,  indeed, 
can  hardly  persuade  himself  that  he  is  in  a  capital  which  belongs  to  the  same  nation 
as  do  New  York,  Philadelphia,  and  Chicago.  The  French  market  furnishes  one  of  the 
most  interesting  and  curious  spectacles  of  the  city.  Mr.  Edward  King,  in  his  inter- 
esting work  on  "  The  Great  South,"  gives  an  animated  description  of  the  French  mar- 
ket:  "The  French  market  at  sunrise  on  Sunday  morning  is  the  perfection  of  viva- 
cious traffic.  In  gazing  upon  the  scene,  one  can  readily  imagine  himself  in  some  city 
beyond  the  seas.  From  the  stone  houses,  balconied  and  fanciful  in  roof  and  window, 
come  hosts  of  plump  and  pretty  young  negresses,  chatting  in  their  droll  patois  with 
monsieur  the  fish-dealer,  before  his  wooden  bench,  or  with  the  rotund  and  ever-laugh- 
ing madame,  who  sells  little  piles  of  potatoes,  arranged  on  a  shelf  like  cannon-balls  at 
an  arsenal,  or  chaffering  with  the  fruit  -  merchant  while  passing  under  long,  hanging 
rows  of  odorous  bananas  and  pineapples,  and  beside  heaps  of  oranges,  whose  color  con- 
trasts prettily  with  the  swart  or  tawny  faces  of  the  purchasers. 

"During  the  morning  hours  of  each  day,  the  markets  are  veritable  bee-hives  of  in- 
dustry :  ladies  and  servants  flutter  in  and  out  of  the  long  passages  in  endless  throngs ; 
but  in  the  afternoon  the  stalls  are  nearly  all  deserted.  One  sees  delicious  types  in  these 
markets ;  he  may  wander  for  months  in  New  Orleans  without  meeting  them  anywhere 
else.  There  is  the  rich,  savage  face,  in  which  the  struggle  of  Congo  with  French  or 
Spanish  blood  is  still  going  on  ;  there  is  the  old  French  market-woman,  with  her  irre- 
pressible form,  her  rosy  cheeks,  and  the  bandanna  wound  about  her  head,  just  as  one 
may  find  her  to  this  day  at  the  Halles  Centrales  in  Paris  ;  there  is  the  negress  of  the 
time  of  D'Artaguette,  renewed  in  some  of  her  grandchildren  ;  there  is  the  plaintive- 
looking  Sicilian  woman,  who  has  been  bullied  all  the  morning  by  rough  negroes  and 
rougher  white  men  as  she  sold  oranges  ;  and  there  is  her  dark,  ferocious-looking  hus- 
band, who  handles  his  cigarette  as  if  he  were  strangling  an  enemy. 

32 


_    M.    1     .'        J    * 


A98  OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 

"  In  a  long  passage  between  two  of  the  market-buildings,  where  hundreds  of  peo- 
ple pass  hourly,  sits  a  silent  Louisiana  Indian  woman,  with  a  sack  of  gumbo  spread 
out  before  her,  and  with  eyes  downcast,  as  if  expecting  harsh  words  rather  than  pur- 
chasers. 

"Entering  the  clothes-market,  one  finds  lively  Gallic  versions  of  the  Hebrew  fe- 
male tending  shops  where  all  articles  are  labeled  at  such  extraordinarily  low  rates  that 
the  person  who  manufactured  them  must  have  given  them  away  ;  quavering  old  men, 
clad  in  rusty  black,  who  sell  shoe-strings  and  cheap  cravats,  but  who  have  hardly  vital- 
ity enough  to  keep  the  flies  off  from  themselves,  not  to  speak  of  waiting  on  custom- 
ers ;  villainous  French  landsharks,  who  have  eyes  as  sharp  for  the  earnings  of  the 
fresh-water  sailor  as  ever  had  a  Gotham  shanghai  merchant  for  those  of  a  salt-water 
tar ;  moldy  old  dames,  who  look  daggers  at  you  if  you  venture  to  insist  that  any 
article  in  their  stock  is  not  of  finest  fabric  and  quality ;  and  hoarse-voiced,  debauched 
Creole  men,  who  almost  cling  to  you  in  the  energy  of  their  pleading  for  purchases. 
Sometimes,  too,  a  beautiful,  black-robed  girl  leans  over  a  counter,  displaying  her  su- 
perbly molded  arms  as  she  adjusts  her  knitting-work.  And  from  each  and  every  one 
of  the  markets  the  noise  rises  in  such  thousand  currents  of  patois,  of  French,  of  Eng- 
lish, of  good-natured  and  guttural  negro  accent,  that  one  can  not  help  wondering  how 
it  is  that  buyer  and  seller  ever  come  to  any  understanding  at  all. 

"  Then  there  are  the  flowers !  Such  marvelous  bargains  as  one  can  have  in  bou- 
quets !  Delicate  jasmines,  modest  knots  of  white  roses,  glorious  orange  -  blossoms, 
camellias,  red  roses,  tender  pansies,  exquisite  verbenas,  the  luscious  and  perfect  vir- 
gin's-bower,  and  the  magnolia  in  its  season — all 'these  are  to  be  had  in  the  markets 
for  a  trivial  sum.  Sometimes,  when  a  Havana  or  a  Sicilian  vessel  is  discharging  her 
cargo,  fruit-boxes  are  broken  open  ;  and  then  it  is  a  treat  to  see  swarms  of  African 
children  hovering  about  the  tempting  piles,  from  which  even  the  sight  of  stout  cud- 
gels will  not  frighten  them. 

"  Sailors,  too,  from  the  ships  anchored  in  the  river,  promenade  the  long  passage- 
ways ;  the  accents  of  twenty  languages  are  heard  ;  and  the  child-like,  comical  French 
of  the  negroes  rings  out  above  the  clamor.  Wagons  from  the  country  clatter  over 
the  stones ;  the  drivers  sing  cheerful  melodies,  interspersed  with  shouts  of  caution  to 
pedestrians  as  they  guide  their  restive  horses  through  the  crowds.  Stout  colored  wom- 
en, with  cackling  hens  dangling  from  their  brawny  hands,  gravely  parade  the  long 
aisles  ;  the  fish-monger  utters  an  apparently  incomprehensible  yell,  yet  brings  crowds 
iiround  him  ;  on  his  clean  block  lies  the  pompano,  the  prince  of  Southern  waters, 
which  an  enthusiastic  admirer  once  described  as  '  a  just  fish  made  perfect,'  or  a  '  trans- 
lated shad.'  Toward  noon  the  clamor  ceases,  the  bustle  of  traffic  is  over,  and  the 
market  men  and  women  betake  themselves  to  the  old  cathedral,  in  whose  shadowed 
aisles  they  kneel  for  momentary  worship." 

The  New  Orleans  levee,  with  the  life  and  surroundings  connected  with  it,  make 
also  a  most  striking  and  curious  phase  of  New  Orleans.  The  river  opposite  the 
city  is  more  than  a  mile  and  a  half  in  width,  and,  notwithstanding  the  velocity  of 


THE  LOWLANDS   OF  THE   SOUTH.  499 

the  current  and  the  distance  from  the  sea,  there  is  a  regular  ebb  and  flow  of  the 
ocean-tide.  Practically,  the  river  is  a  magnificent  bay,  as  grand  as  any  arm  of  the 
sea.  As  we  stand  on  the  levee,  there  is  a  consecutive  mile  or  more  of  steamers  in 
sight,  from  the  gorgeous  floating  palaces  which  carry  between  the  great  cities  of  the 
West,  down  through  every  conceivable  modification  of  the  steamboat  to  the  absurd 
stern-wheeler,  built  for  navigation  in  the  shallow  streams  tributary  to  the  Arkansas 
and  Red  Eivers.  Stately  ships  from  every  land  lie  side  by  side,  their  masts  and 
cordage  revealing  a  forest  of  tangled  lines.  The  river  is  continually  beaten  into 
foam  by  the  army  of  ferry-boats  and  steam-tugs,  which  fill  the  air  above  with  long 
trailing  streamers  of  smoke.  The  levee  in  New  Orleans  is  a  wide,  artificial  plateau, 
extending  miles  each  way,  and  crowded  with  the  teeming  productions  of  the  coun- 
ties and  States  which  are  in  any  way  tributary  to  the  great  river.  A  perfect  babel 
of  tongues  is  heard  among  the  workers,  and  you  are  made  to  realize  that  you  are  at 
the  foot  of  a  vast  and  unsurpassable  inland  navigation. 

Before  the  application  of  steam  to  navigation,  river-commerce  was  carried  on  by 
keel-boats  and  flat-boats.  When  the  flat-boat  reached  its  destination,  it  had  accom- 
plished its  end,  and  was  broken  up  for  fire-wood  ;  but  the  keel-boat  not  only  brought 
down  a  cargo,  but,  loaded  with  foreign  products,  was  "cordelled"  back  by  months 
of  hard  work  up  the  river  to  her  starting-point.  The  keel-boatmen  of  the  Missis- 
sippi, now  an  extinct  race,  were  remarkable  for  their  physical  strength  and  for  their 
unique  qualities.  These  sons  of  Anak,  in  muscular  power  and  ability  to  endure  fatigue, 
were  probably  without  rivals  in  any  age  or  country  ;  and  had  they  lived  in  ancient 
Greece,  would  have  been  victors  in  the  old  games  which  gave  such  intense  delight  to 
a  people  who  gloried  in  physical  prowess.  Children  of  nature,  the  keel-boatmen  were 
terribly  pugnacious  and  fierce  when  their  passions  were  aroused,  but  generous,  simple- 
minded,  and  placable.  They  were  slaves  of  their  word,  and  a  promise  made  by  one  of 
these  men  was  rigidly  fulfilled.  Some  of  the  most  interesting  traditions  of  the  Mis- 
sissippi River  cluster  around  the  memories  of  keel-boatmen,  and  it  will  be  long  before 
such  names  as  that  of  Mike  Fink  fade  away  from  local  legend. 

But  the  cumbrous  flat-boat  still  exists,  and  remains  an  important  agent  for  bearing 
to  the  great  distributing  markets  of  the  world  the  agricultural  products  of  our  West- 
ern States ;  though,  before  long,  it  is  probable  that  it  will  have  given  place  entirely 
to  the  barge  drawn  by  the  tug.  These  huge  edifices  are  built  on  large  scows,  some- 
times a  hundred  feet  or  more  in  length,  the  superstructure  being  a  great  building 
in  the  shape  of  a  parallelogram.  A  flat-boat  with  a  full  load  is  like  a  dozen  country- 
stores  afloat.  To  keep  them  off  the  "snags"  and  "sawyers,"  which  threaten  the  un- 
wary river  navigator,  the  flat-boats  are  furnished  with  four  immense  sweeps,  which  in 
time  of  emergency  have  to  be  worked  with  great  skill  and  strength. 

The  New  Orleans  levee  is  a  city  of  itself.  Immense  piles  of  cotton-bales,  hogs- 
heads of  sugar  and  molasses,  and  tierces  of  rice,  can  be  seen  on  every  hand,  and 
elevators,  which  have  recently  been  built,  show  significantly  that  New  Orleans  is  reach- 
ing out  her  long  arms  to  contest  the  grain-transporting  trade  for  foreign  markets 


500  OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 

with  cities  which  have  hitherto  scoffed  at  competition.  The  difficulties  of  passing 
through  the  bar  in  the  Southwest  Pass  have  already  been  principally  removed,  and 
the  Crescent  City  only  needs  the  projected  canal  to  be  cut  through  from  the  river 
just  below  the  city  to  Lake  Borgne,  an  arm  of  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  almost  due  east 
from  New  Orleans,  to  equip  her  favorably  for  the  commercial  combat. 

Though  the  climate  of  New  Orleans  and  its  liability  to  terrible  epidemics  of  yellow 
fever  have  been,  and  always  will  be,  a  drawback  to  her  prosperity,  there  seems  every 
reason  to  forecast  a  brilliant  future  for  this  city.  The  improvements  in  the  naviga- 
tion of  the  upper  Mississippi  and  its  tributaries  ;  the  completion  of  a  direct  air-line 
railroad  to  New  York,  and  of  another  to  the  Pacific  Ocean  ;  and  the  various  other 
improved  facilities  for  business  and  travel,  will  make  New  Orleans  the  New  York 
of  the  South.  Lines  of  steamships  already  connect  her  with  all  the  sea-ports  of  the 
Atlantic  coast,  Cuba,  and  Mexico,  as  also  with  Liverpool,  Havre,  Bremen,  and  Ham- 
burg. It  is  by  no  means  impossible  that  there  are  those  now  living  who  will  survive 
to  see  the  chief  city  of  Louisiana  with  a  population  of  a  million  of  people. 

The  plantations  lining  the  river -banks  above  New  Orleans  on  both  sides  have 
become  portions  of  a  charming  landscape  scenery,  which  combines  the  novelty  of  the 
finest  exotics  with  the  best-preserved  specimens  of  the  original  forest.  Here  may 
be  found  specimens  of  the  choicest  tropical  plants  ;  orange-trees  three  quarters  of  a 
century  old,  with  great  gnarled  trunks  and  strong  arms,  still  bearing  their  fruit  in 
perfection  ;  the  banana,  with  its  fine  sweeping  leaves  of  the  deepest  green,  waving  like 
banners  in  the  breeze  ;  pecan-trees  of  immense  height,  bearing  one  of  the  most  deli- 
cious of  tropical  nuts  ;  and  fig,  pomegranate,  and  other  trees  yielding  luscious 
fruits.  Hedges  of  jasmine  lead  up  to  the  doors  of  the  planters'  residences,  and  vie  in 
sweetness  with  the  night-blooming  cereus  and  the  myriad  variety  of  roses,  which  grow 
on  shrubs  rather  like  trees  than  like  the  stunted  bushes  of  our  northern  climate. 
The  rural  population  of  lower  Louisiana  is  largely  made  up  of  a  most  refined  and 
interesting  class,  being  the  descendants  of  the  old  French  settlers,  many  of  whom 
belonged  to  the  best  families  of  France;  but,  of  course,  since  the  late  war,  changed 
social  conditions  have  somewhat  impaired  that  wealth  and  leisure  which  made  these 
planters'  lives  such  a  pleasant  commingling  of  ease  and  dignity. 

One  of  the  most  striking  beauties  of  the  lower  Mississippi  is  found  in  its  grand 
magnolias.  This  flowering  giant  often  reaches  the  height  of  ninety  feet.  The  form 
is  symmetrical,  and  each  particular  bough  has  individual  qualities.  The  leaves  are 
large  and  crisp ;  where  the  surface  is  exposed  to  the  sun,  of  a  polished  dark-green,  but 
of  a  velvety  gray  underneath.  While  the  foliage  of  the  live-oak,  with  which  the  mag- 
nolia is  generally  found  in  company,  is  for  ever  bending  and  rustling  in  the  breeze, 
the  magnolia  has  no  response  to  the  coquetry  of  the  winds.  But,  as  a  recompense 
for  the  beauty  of  wavy  motion  and  the  music  of  ^Eolian  whispering,  this  imperial 
tree  wears  a  robe  of  splendid  blossoms,  the  like  of  which  is  difficult  to  match  in  the 
vegetable  kingdom.  These  blossoms  look  like  greatly  magnified  orange-blossoms,  and 
they  are  so  fragrant  that  the  rich  scent  is  almost  oppressive.  The  magnolia-tree  in 


THE  LOWLANDS  OF  THE   SOUTH. 


501 


A  Magnolia  Swamp. 

full    bloom,  with    the   Spanish    moss   enshrouding   it   in   a  gray,    neutral   background, 
makes  a  wonderful  picture. 

The  scenic  interest  of  the  forests  and  swamps  of  the  lower  Mississippi  has  always 
something  of  mystery  and  gloom  associated  with  it.     All  things   are  on  a  water-level, 


502  OUR  NATIVE   LAND. 

and  gazing  aloft  through  the  towering  trees  makes  one  feel  as  if  he  were  in  some  un- 
derground cavern,  getting  glimpses  of  sunlight  through  chinks  and  crevices.  In  spots 
where  there  is  an  opening  in  the  trees  and  a  flood  of  sunlight  can  enter,  the  lush 
earth  bursts  into  a  profusion  of  the  most  gorgeous-hued  flowers.  The  scarlet  flower 
of  the  lobelia  flashes  like  a  coal  of  fire  ;  the  hydrangea,  in  the  North  a  timid  shrub, 
becomes  a  great  mound  of  delicate  blue  flowers  ;  and  the  fuchsia  towers  upward  a 
stalwart  tree,  radiant  with  countless  flowers  of  white,  crimson,  and  purple. 

Around  the  trees  festoons  of  grape-vines  curl  like  serpents,  running  up  sometimes 
sixty  feet  in  height,  and  looking  like  a  great  mass  of  cordage.  In  the  distance,  as  you 
peer  through  the  vistas  of  the  solemn  forests,  you  see  the  shimmer  of  far-away  lagoons, 
and  the  water-marks  on  the  trees,  twenty  feet  above  your  head,  remind  you  of  some 
tremendous  overflow  which  had  made  the  country  a  great  lake  under  a  woodland  can- 
opy. But  now  you  look  around  you  and  see  only  standing  pools  yellow  with  the  sap 
of  decayed  vegetation,  and  sending  out  poisonous  effluvia.  The  stagnant  water  is  only 
disturbed  by  the  wriggling  of  the  deadly  moccasin.  Throughout  all  these  lowlands 
poisonous  snakes  abound,  and  the  hunter  is  tempted  by  the  overflowing  animal  life. 
Deer,  panthers,  wild-cats,  and  alligators  abound,  and  the  skill  of  the  good  rifle-shot  is 
never  at  a  loss  for  a  mark.  In  fact,  much,  if  not  all,  which  has  already  been  said  of 
the  scenery  of  the  Florida  Everglades  in  a  previous  chapter  will  apply  with  equal  force 
to  that  of  the  lower  Mississippi,  though,  of  course,  a  large  part  of  the  latter  has  been 
more  modified  by  civilization.  A  deep  and  lasting  impression  was  made  on  the 
minds  of  the  early  discoverers  by  the  vegetable  drapery  which  hangs  from  the  trees 
of  the  Louisiana  forests,  generally  known  as  Spanish  moss.  One  can  fancy  that  the 
survivors  of  De  Soto's  expedition,  as  they  floated  broken-hearted  down  the  great  river 
which  they  had  discovered  at  such  cost,  looked  on  this  strange  production  of  nature 
as  mourning  weeds  worn  for  the  death  of  their  heroic  chief.  Spanish  moss  is  a 
parasite  that  lives  by  inserting  its  delicate  suckers  under  the  bark  and  drawing  exist- 
ence from  the  flowing  sap.  It  is  only  found  on  trees  which  have  become  enfeebled 
by  age  or  accident,  and  here,  like  a  vegetable  vampire,  it  sucks  out  the  heart's-blood 
of  its  victim  and  wraps  it  in  a  winding-sheet  of  weird  and  ghostly  gray,  that  looks 
in  the  distance  like  streamers  of  mist.  These  huge,  gray,  waving  banners  often  hang 
down  to  the  very  ground  from  the  top  of  trees  sixty  feet  in  height.  In  many  cases 
old  trees  which  have  been  artificially  stripped  of  this  parasite  assume  again  nearly  all 
of  their  pristine  strength  and  vigor.  The  part  which  Spanish  moss  performs  in  the 
functions  of  nature  is  interesting.  It  consumes  the  hard  and  iron  -  fibered  woods, 
which  would  otherwise  last  as  vegetable  wrecks  for  centuries,  and  thus  quietly  makes 
way  for  new  growths.  Poets  have  justly  likened  Spanish  moss  to  the  shattered  sails 
of  ships,  torn  to  shreds  by  the  teeth  of  the  tempest  or  the  iron  hail  of  battle,  but 
still  hanging  to  the  rigging.  To  the  French  writer  Chateaubriand  it  suggested  ghosts. 
But,  with  whatever  analogy  one  tries  to  explain  its  effects  on  the  fancy,  it  is  certain 
that  it  gives  the  lowland  forests  of  the  South  an  aspect  utterly  unique  and  individual. 
Within  a  few  years  this  parasite  has  become  an  important  object  of  commerce.  When 


THE  LOWLANDS   OF   THE   SOUTH. 


503 


stripped  from  the  trees  and  thoroughly  dried  and  thrashed  of  its  delicate  fibers  of 
bark  and  leaf,  the  long,  thready  moss  shows  a  fiber  as  black  as  jet,  and  almost  as  thick 
and  elastic  as  horse-hair,  which  it  strikingly  resembles.  For  the  stuffing  of  mattresses, 


Spanish,  Moss. 


cushions,  and  other  upholstery  purposes  it  is  of  great  value  as  a  substitute  for  horse- 
hair, and  the  gathering  of  the  moss  has  become  a  valuable  field  of  labor  for  the  inhab- 
itants of  the  swamps  and  forests,  both  above  and  below  New  Orleans. 


504 


OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 


The  great  characteristic  industry  of  Louisiana  is  the  culture  of  the  sugar-cane, 
and  the  manufacture  of  the  cane  into  sugar  and  molasses.  It  is  the  only  agricultural 
industry  in  the  world  which  involves  not  only  the  raising  of  the  natural  product,  but 
the  preparation  of  that  product  by  manufacture  for  the  market.  Though  the  sugar- 
planting  interest  extends  far  above  New  Orleans — in  fact,  nearly  to  the  northern  lim- 
its of  the  State  —  the  most  rich  and  fruitful  plantations  are  below  that  city.  The 
narrow  strip  which,  for  fifty  or  sixty  miles  below  New  Orleans,  protects  the  Mississippi 
channel  from  the  Gulf,  is  crowded  with  splendid  sugar-plantations.  The  alluvial  soil 
of  recent  formation  is  extremely  prolific,  and  may  be  called  one  of  the  gardens  of  the 


Cutting  the  Sugar-Cant. 

world.  The  rivers  and  bayous  furnish  fish  and  oysters  of  the  finest  quality ;  the  for- 
ests swarm  with  game  ;  the  gardens  bring  forth  tropical  fruits  and  vegetables  in  great 
abundance ;  and  all  the  conditions  of  life  are  easy.  Here  the  profitable  culture  of 

\ 

sugar  attains  its  best  conditions.  From  the  river  one  is  charmed  to  note  the  pictur- 
esque grouping  of  sugar-houses  and  quarters,  the  mansions  peeping  through  splendid 
groves  of  live-oak  and  magnolia,  and  the  rich  fields  stretching  away  for  miles.  The 
sugar-houses  on  many  of  the  larger  plantations  are  crammed  with  costly  machinery 
worth  thousands  of  dollars  ;  and,  indeed,  sugar-planting  on  a  big  scale  demands  large 
capital.  Before  the  war  the  work  of  cultivating  the  cane  was  conducted  in  a  crude 
and  unscientific  manner,  even  on  the  largest  plantations,  as  an  outcome  of  the  very 


THE  LOWLANDS  OF  THE  SOUTH.  505 

conditions  of  slave-labor.  But  the  difficulty  of  securing  reliable  and  efficient  hands 
during  the  last  fifteen  years  has  caused  a  large  use  of  labor-saving  machinery.  The 
best  implements,  even  to  steam-plows  or  gang-plows  drawn  by  a  stationary  engine, 
are  now  found  on  the  principal  sugar-plantations,  to  a  great  advantage,  as  planters 
acknowledge,  over  the  old  methods. 

A  portion  of  the  sugar-cane  is  preserved  to  furnish  young  sprouts  for  the  spring 
planting.  These  shapely  and  richly  colored  stalks  lie  all  winter  in  the  furrows,  and 
at  the  joints  which  occur  every  few  inches  are  found  the  new  buds  of  promise  out  of 
which  the  fresh  crop  must  come.  When  the  spring  plowing  begins,  the  stalks  are 
laid  along  the  beds  of  the  drills,  and  each  shoot  as  it  makes  its  appearance  is  care- 
fully watched.  The  labor  of  hoeing  and  otherwise  tending  the  growing  cane  is  inces- 
sant even  now,  when  hand-labor  is  largely  superseded  by  horse-cultivators.  Under 
the  slavery  regime  the  sugar-fields  of  Louisiana  represented  to  the  negro  mind  the 
very  ultima  Thule  of  horror  and  wretchedness.  When  the  cane  reaches  its  perfection 
there  comes  a  jubilee,  for  it  means  an  unstinted  feast  on  the  sweets  so  beloved  by 
the  darkey.  All  hands  now  work  night  and  day  in  cutting  the  cane  and  drawing  it 
to  the  sugar-house,  for  it  is  dangerous  to  leave  the  stalks  a  moment  uncut  after  they 
have  reached  the  right  condition.  The  great  rollers  are  kept  grinding  without  cessa- 
tion by  successive  reliefs  of  hands,  who  keep  high  wassail  and  wax  fat  on  the  tooth- 
some juice.  A  sugar-mill  consists  of  a  series  of  endless  rollers,  through  which  the 
cane  passes  till  every  drop  of  its  saccharine  burden  is  squeezed  out.  The  refuse  is 
used  as  the  fuel  for  the  furnace  which  drives  the  engine,  so  that  no  coal  or  wood  is 
ever  needed  except  for  the  refining-mill.  From  the  crushed  arteries  of  the  cane  wells 
forth  a  thick,  impure  liquid.  This  has  to  be  immediately  cared  for,  or  it  will  spoil. 
The  clarifying  process  is  quite  complicated,  and  represents  a  very  high  degree  of 
mechanical  and  chemical  skill.  It  must  have  been  a  study  full  of  suggestion  and 
interest  during  former  times  to  step  from  the  fields,  where  the  labor  of  raising  the 
cane  was  carried  on  in  the  most  crude  and  brutal  form,  to  the  sugar-houses,  full  of 
admirable  machinery  representing  the  highest  results  of  intellectual  skill  and  knowl- 
edge. 

The  stages  through  which  the  cane-juice  passes  are  various.  There  are  the  great 
open  trays  traversed  by  copper  and  iron  steam-pipes  ;  there  are  the  filter-pans,  filled 
with  bone-dust,  through  which  the  liquor  trickles  down  ;  now  it  wanders  through 
separators  and  then  through  bone-dust  again,  onward  toward  granulation  in  the 
vacuum-pans,  and  then  into  coolers,  where  the  sugar  is  kept  in  a  half-liquid  state  by 
means  of  revolving  paddles  ;  until  finally  it  comes  to  the  vessels  in  which,  by  rapid 
whirlings,  all  the  molasses  is  thrown  out ;  and  the  molasses,  leaving  the  dry  sugar 
ready  for  commerce,  goes  meandering  among  the  pipes  under  the  floors,  and  round 
and  round  again  through  the  whirling  machines  until  every  trace  of  sugar  has  been 
finally  taken  from  it. 

While  there  are  yet  many  large  sugar-plantations  in  the  South  where  the  regime 
of  labor  is  carried  on  in  the  old  patriarchal  style,  as  nearly  as  the  free  system  will 


506  -OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

permit,  the  tendency  is  to  break  up  the  plantations  into  small  farms — a  fact  which, 
however  detrimental  to  what  is  picturesque  in  the  rural  life  of  the  sugar-region,  can 
not  but  be  highly  conducive  to  industrial  interests.  Co-operative  ownership  of  the  ex- 
pensive machinery  necessary  for  sugar-making  is  becoming  more  and  more  the  vogue. 
In  some  cases  the  sugar-growers  sell  their  cane  to  some  enterprising  owner  of  machin- 
ery, or  have  it  crushed  and  manufactured  on  shares,  just  as  the  Western  farmer  has 
his  wheat  thrashed  out  by  the  owner  of  a  machine.  This  method  enables  the 
comparatively  poor  man  to  enter  into  competition  with  the  capitalist  planter,  and  it 
is  not  doubtful  that  in  the  end  it  will  revolutionize  the  old  system  of  sugar-planting, 
which  still  survives  the  wreck  of  slavery.  The  last  census  proves  that  the  sugar- 
industry  of  Louisiana  is  steadily  improving,  the  yield  for  1880  having  been  218,314 
hogsheads — larger  than  that  of  any  year  since  the  beginning  of  the  late  war.  It  is 
not  that  the  year  was  more  favorable  in  its  conditions,  but  that  there  was  a  larger 
acreage  of  cane  grown. 

Though  there  are  portions  of  the  lower  Mississippi  exceedingly  charming,  so  far 
as  the  richest  productions  of  nature  can  beautify  its  banks,  yet  the  impression  on  the 
whole  is  very  different  from  that  which  is  ordinarily  associated  with  what  is  beau- 
tiful. The  splendid  vegetation  and  the  great  forests  delight  and  amaze  the  beholder, 
but  there  is  an  element  of  mystery  and  gloom  in  the  scene  withal.  The  dreary 
solitude,  and  often  the  absence  of  all  living  objects,  save  the  huge  alligators  which 
float  past  apparently  asleep  on  the  drift-wood,  and  an  occasional  vulture  attracted 
by  its  impure  prey  on  the  surface  of  the  water ;  the  trees  with  long  pendants  of  gray 
moss  fluttering  in  the  wind ;  and  the  gigantic  river  rolling  for  ever  onward  the 
vast  volume  of  its  dark  and  turbid  waters — such  are  the  features  of  the  strange  land- 
scape which  impresses  the  eye  of  the  river- tourist.  "The  prevailing  character  of  the 
lower  Mississippi,"  says  a  recent  traveler,  "is  that  of  solemn  gloom.  I  have  trodden 
the  passes  of  Alp  and  Apennine,  yet  never  felt  how  awful  a  thing  is  nature,  till  I  was 
borne  on  its  waters  through  regions  desolate  and  uninhabitable.  Day  after  day  and 
night  after  night,  we  continued  driving  downward  toward  the  south  ;  our  vessel,  like 
some  huge  demon  of  the  wilderness,  bearing  fire  in  her  bosom  and  canopying  the  eter- 
nal forest  with  the  smoke  of  her  nostrils.  The  effect  on  my  spirits  was  such  as  I 
have  never  experienced,  before  or  since.  Conversation  became  odious,  and  I  passed 
my  time  in  a  sort  of  dreamy  contemplation.  At  night  I  ascended  the  highest  deck 
and  lay  for  hours  gazing  listlessly  on  the  sky,  the  forests,  and  the  waters,  amid  silence 
only  broken  by  the  clanging  of  the  engine.  The  navigation  of  the  Mississippi  is  not 
unaccompanied  by  danger,  arising  from  what  are  called  planterx  and  sawyer*.  These 
are  trees  firmly  fixed  in  the  bottom  of  the  river,  by  which  vessels  are  in  danger  of 
being  impaled.  The  distinction  is  that  the  former  stand  upright  in  the  water,  the 
latter  lie  with  their  points  directed  down  the  stream.  The  bends  or  flexures  of  the 
Mississippi  are  regular  in  a  degree  unknown  in  any  other  river.  The  action  of  run- 
ning water,  in  a  vast  alluvial  plain  like  that  of  the  basin  of  the  Mississippi,  without 
obstruction  from  rock  or  mountain,  may  be  calculated  with  the  utmost  precision. 


THE  LOWLANDS   OF  THE  SOUTH. 


507 


Whenever  the  course  of  a  river  diverges  in  any  degree  from  a  right  line,  it  is  evident 
that  the  current  can  no  longer  act  with  equal  force  on  both  its  banks.  On  one  side 
the  impulse  is  diminished,  on  the  other  increased.  The  tendency  in  these  sinuosi- 
ties, therefore,  is  manifestly  to  increase,  and  the  stream  which  hollows  out  a  portion 
of  one  bank  reacting  on  the  other,  the  process  of  curvature  is  still  continued,  till 
its  channel  presents  an  almost  unvarying  succession  of  salient  and  retiring  angles. 
In  the  Mississippi  the  flexures  are  BO  extremely  great,  that  it  often  happens  that 
the  isthmus  which  divides  different  portions  of  the  river  gives  way.  A  few  months 
before  my  visit  to  the  South,  a  remarkable  case  of  this  kind  had  happened,  by  which 
forty  miles  of  navigation  had  been  saved.  The  opening  thus  formed  was  called  the 
new  cut.  Even  the  annual  changes  which  take  place  in  the  bed  of  the  Mississippi  are 


A  Mississippi  Bayou. 

very  remarkable.  Islands  spring  up  and  disappear ;  shoals  suddenly  present  themselves 
where  pilots  have  been  accustomed  to  deep  water ;  in  many  places,  whole  acres  are 
swept  away  from  one  bank  and_  added  to  the  other ;  and  the  pilot  assured  me  that  in 
every  voyage  he  could  perceive  fresh  changes.  Many  circumstances  contribute  to 
render  these  changes  more  rapid  in  the  Mississippi  than  in  any  other  river.  Among 
these,  perhaps  the  greatest  is  the  vast  volume  of  its  waters,  acting  on  alluvial  matter 
peculiarly  penetrable.  The  river,  when  in  flood,  spreads  over  the  neighboring  country, 
in  which  it  has  formed  channels,  called  bayou*.  The  banks  thus  become  so  saturated 
with  water,  that  they  can  oppose  little  resistance  to  the  action  of  the  current,  which 
frequently  sweeps  off  large  portions  of  the  forest.  The  immense  quantity  of  drift- 
wood is  another  cause  of  change.  Floating  logs  encounter  some  obstacle  in  the  river, 
and  become  stationary.  The  mass  gradually  accumulates  ;  the  water,  saturated  with 


508 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


mud,  deposits  a  sediment,  and  thus  an  island  is  formed,  which  soon  becomes  covered 
with  vegetation.  Some  years  ago  the  Mississippi  was  surveyed  by  order  of  the  Gov- 
ernment, and  its  islands,  from  the  confluence  of  the  Missouri  to  the  sea,  were  num- 
bered. I  remember  asking  the  pilot  the  name  of  a  very  beautiful  island,  and  the 
answer  was,  '573,'  the  number  assigned  to  it  in  the  hydrographical  survey,  and  the 
only  name  by  which  it  was  known." 


A  "  Crevasse"  on  the  Mississippi  Ricer. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  features  of  the  great  Father  of  Waters  is  found  in 
those  tremendous  overflows  called  crevasses,  which  occur  with  alarming  frequency, 
and  are  among  the  dreadful  exigencies  against  which  the  resident  of  the  lower  Mis- 
sissippi Valley  never  feels  secure.  When  they  do  occur,  the  confusion,  distress,  and 
trepidation  they  cause  are  terrible  to  witness.  Gaunt  starvation  then  threatens  thou- 
sands, and  only  the  hand  of  governmental  aid  and  private  charity  saves  them  from  a 
miserable  death.  In  an  hour  the  planter  is  doomed  to  see  a  thousand  acres,  which 
have  been  carefully  planted  and  tended,  covered  with  water  two  or  three  feet  deep. 
The  country  for  many  a  long  mile  back  becomes  a  swamp,  the  roads  are  transformed 


THE  LOWLANDS   OF  THE  80UTH.  509 

into  rivers,  the  lakes  are  seas.  These  inundations  are  so  little  understood,  that  a 
brief  description  of  the  physical  condition  of  the  river  will  be  interesting  as  throwing 
some  light  on  the  subject. 

What  is  called  the  lower  Mississippi  begins  at  St.  Louis,  twenty  miles  above  which 
the  Missouri  pours  in  its  muddy  flood  to  swell  its  waters.  The  name  is  more  usually 
applied,  however,  to  the  river  after  it  reaches  Cairo,  where  it  receives  the  additional 
,  volume  of  the  Ohio  River.  Thenceforward  the  Mississippi  flows  through  alluvial  lands, 
and  it  meanders  from  one  bluff  to  another,  these  being  from  forty  to  one  hundred 
miles  apart.  Passing  below  Cairo,  the  river  strikes  the  bluffs  at  Columbus  on  the  east- 
ern or  Kentucky  shore.  It  skirts  them  as  far  as  Memphis,  Tennessee,  having  on  its 
west  the  broad  earthquake-lands  of  Missouri  and  Arkansas.  It  again  crosses  its  valley 
to  meet  the  waters  of  the  White  and  Arkansas  Rivers,  and  skirts  the  bluffs  at  Helena 
in  Arkansas,  flanking  and  hemming  in  the  St.  Francis  with  her  swamps  and  sunken 
lands.  Again  crossing  the  valley  toward  the  eastward,  another  re-enforcement  comes 
from  the  Yazoo  River  near  Vicksburg,  creating  an  immense  reservoir  on  the  east 
bank.  From  Vicksburg  to  Baton  Rouge  the  river  hugs  the  eastern  bluffs,  and  from 
Baton  Rouge  to  the  mouth  is  the  pure  "  delta  country  "  for  a  distance  of  two  hundred 
miles.  All  of  this  valley  below  Cairo  is  under  the  high-water  line  of  the  powerful 
stream,  which  drains  several  million  square  miles  of  country,  and  the  efforts  of 
men  to  stay  an  inundation  are  almost  puerile.  The  valley  is  divided  into  several 
natural  districts,  one  embracing  the  lands  from  Cairo  to  Helena,  where  the  St.  Francis 
debouches  ;  another  from  Helena  nearly  to  Vicksburg,  on  the  east  bank,  including  the 
Yazoo  Valley  ;  a  third  comprises  the  country  from  the  Arkansas  to  the  Red  River, 
known  as  the  Macon  and  Tensas  Valley  ;  a  fourth  runs  from  the  Red  River  to  the 
Gulf  on  the  west  side ;  and  a  fifth  from  Baton  Rouge  to  the  Gulf  on  the  east  side. 
Many  of  these  districts  are  imperfectly  leveed,  and  others  are  entirely  unprotected. 
When  high  water  does  come,  the  fact  that  there  are  only  a  few  levees  only  increases 
the  danger  of  a  general  inundation.  In  slavery-times  the  planters  in  the  lowlands 
were  able,  by  incessant  preparation  and  vigilance,  to  guard  against  ruin  by  water  ; 
but  now  they  have  so  little  control  over  a  labor  which  thinks  only  of  the  present 
and  not  of  the  future,  that  they  are  not  able  to  do  much  to  confine  the  river-god 
within  his  due  metes  and  bounds.  The  only  hope  seems  to  be  the  execution  of  a 
grand  national  work  by  the  General  Government,  perhaps  in  co-operation  with  the 
State  governments.  But  bills  to  this  effect  have  been  so  often  defeated  in  Congress, 
that  the  end  seems  far  off.  Certainly  it  would  appear  that  Government  could  carry 
out  nothing  of  more  importance,  for  in  no  other  way  can  the  rich  Southern  lowlands 
ever  be  secured  against  a  ruin  which  recurs  every  few  years.  It  is  said,  indeed,  that 
the  lands  overflowed  the  year  before  give  a  much  larger  crop ;  but  this  offers  poor 
compensation  for  those  who  have  suffered  absolute  loss  of  all  they  had  in  the  world. 
For  nine  months  of  the  year  the  river-planter  pays  but  little  attention  to  the  levee. 
But  the  spring  comes,  and  the  melted  snows  which  had  fallen  at  the  foot  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains  must  find  their  way  to  the  sea.  Then  he  realizes  what  a  frail  hold 


510  OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 

he  has  on  his  young  crops  and  the  accumulated  improvements  of  a  large  estate.  The 
spring  rains  assist  in  making  the  water-barriers  unstable  ;  rats,  mice,  and  beetles  have 
burrowed  into  them,  and  thousands  of  craw-fish,  with  their  claws  as  hard  as  iron,  have 
riddled  them  with  holes.  Under  such  conditions  the  rising  of  the  river  becomes  a 
terrible  threat.  Some  night  the  alarm  is  given  that  a  crevasse  is  threatened.  All  is 
consternation.  Plantation- bells  are  rung,  and  men  on  fleet  horses  scour  the  country 
around,  giving  the  alarm.  Men,  women,  and  children  assemble  with  whatever  im- 
plements they  have  and  hasten  to  the  point  of  danger.  But,  in  spite  of  all  effort, 
the  levee  crumbles  away  under  the  tremendous  assault  and  the  river  pours  through, 
roaring  like  a  cataract.  It  takes  but  a  short  time,  after  the  break  has  defied  all  at- 
tempts at  obstruction  or  repair,  to  convert  the  surrounding  country  for  miles  into  a 
waste  of  waters.  When  the  inundation  has  subsided,  if  it  does  subside  in  time  to 
allow  a  second  planting,  the  planter  thinks  himself  lucky  if  he  makes  half  a  crop, 
while  the  poorer  farmers  are  temporarily  ruined. 

The  former  capital  of  Louisiana,  Baton  Rouge,  is  pleasantly  situated  on  the  first 
bluff  which  the  Mississippi  steamboat-voyager  sees  in  ascending  the  river,  the  site  be- 
ing some  forty  feet  above  the  highest  rise  of  the  river.  The  slope  of  the  bluff  is  gen- 
tle and  gradual,  and  the  town,  as  beheld  from  the  river,  with  its  singularly  picturesque 
French  and  Spanish  houses  and  its  queer  squares,  looks  like  a  finely  painted  landscape. 
The  whole  country,  above  and  below,  is  a  delightful  garden,  lovely  and  fragrant  with 
all  the  fruits  and  flowers  of  the  tropics.  Above  Baton  Eouge  the  cotton  interest  grad- 
ually supplants  that  of  sugar.  Indeed,  Northern  Louisiana,  Texas,  Arkansas,  Mis- 
sissippi, and  Tennessee  are  more  and  more  becoming  the  great  cotton  region  of  the 
country.  Both  labor  and  capital  are  pouring  into  these  States  in  the  pursuit  of  cot- 
ton-raising, while  they  are  being  withdrawn  from  South  Carolina,  Georgia,  and  Ala- 
bama, where  the  lands  have  been  longer  worked,  and  consequently  impoverished. 

The  next  important  town  above  Baton  Rouge  is  Natchez,  Mississippi,  mostly  built 
on  a  high  bluff,  two  hundred  feet  above  the  level  of  the  stream,  though  there  is  a 
portion  of  the  city  lying  on  the  narrow  strip  of  land  between  the  foot  of  the  hill  and 
the  river,  which  is  known  as  "  Natchez-under-the-IIill. "  Here  are  located  many  of 
the  most  important  business  houses,  while  it  is  on  the  bluff  above  that  one  sees 
the  tiner  private  residences,  each  one  embowered  in  fine  gardens.  The  suburbs  of 
Natchez  were  notable  before  the  war  for  their  beautiful  and  expensively  furnished 
planters'  seats,  but  many  of  these  were  ruined  during  the  late  war.  The  climate 
is  pleasant  and  very  salubrious  ;  the  winters  are  temperate,  though  variable,  and  the 
summers  long  and  equable.  Natchez  was  founded  by  D'Iberville,  in  1700,  and  is  re- 
plete with  historic  associations.  Here  once  lived  and  flourished  the  noblest  tribe  of 
Indians  on  the  continent,  and  from  that  tribe  it  takes  its  name.  Their  pathetic  story 
is  festooned  with  the  flowers  of  poetry  and  romance.  Their  ceremonies  and  creed 
were  not  unlike  those  of  the  fire  -  worshipers  of  Persia.  Their  priests  kept  the  fire 
continually  burning  upon  the  altar  in  their  Temple  of  the  Sun,  and  the  tradition  is, 
that  they  got  the  fire  from  heaven.  Just  before  the  advent  of  the  white  man,  it  ia 


THE  LOWLANDS   OF  THE  SOUTH.  511 

said,  the  fire  accidentally  went  out,  and  that  was  one  reason  why  they  became  dis- 
heartened in  their  struggle  with  the  pale-faces.  The  last  remnant  of  the  race  were 
still  existing  a  few  years  ago  in  Texas,  and  they  still  gloried  in  their  paternity.  It  is 
probable  that  the  first  explorer  of  the  »lower  Mississippi  River,  the  unfortunate  La 
Salle,  landed  at  this  spot  on  his  downward  trip  to  the  sea.  It  is  a  disputed  point 
as  to  where  was  the  location  of  the  first  fort.  Some  say  it  lay  back  of  the  town, 
while  others  say  it  was  established  at  Ellis's  Cliffs.  In  1713  Bienville  established  a 
fort  and  trading-post  at  this  spot.  The  second,  Fort  Kosalie,  or  rather  the  broken 
profile  of  it,  is  still  visible.  It  is  gradually  sinking,  by  the  earth  being  undermined 
by  subterranean  springs,  and  in  a  few  years  not  a  vestige  of  it  will  be  left.  Any  one 
now  standing  at  the  landing  can  see  the  different  strata  of  earth  distinctly  marked, 
showing  the  depth  of  the  artificial  earthworks. 

One  hundred  and  twenty  miles  above  Natchez  is  the  important  city  of  Vicksburg, 
lying  also  in  the  'same  State.  This  fine  place  is  situated  on  the  Walnut  Hills,  which 
extend  for  two  miles  along  the  river  and  rise  to  the  height  of  five  hundred  feet,  dis- 
playing some  of  the  finest  scenery  on  the  lower  Mississippi.  The  city  was  founded 
by  a  planter  named  Vick  in  1836,  and  some  of  his  family  are  still  living  in  the  place. 
It  is  regarded  as  one  of  the  most  attractive  cities  in  the  South,  and  is  the  chief  com- 
mercial mart  of  this  portion  of  the  river-valley.  It  was  here  that  the  Confederates 
made  their  last  and  most  desperate  stand  for  the  control  of  the  river.  The  place 
was  surrounded  by  vast  fortifications,  the  hills  crowned  with  batteries,  and  under  Gen- 
eral Pemberton  it  made  a  gallant  defense.  But,  after  a  protracted  siege,  it  capitulated 
to  General  Grant,  who  thus  "broke  the  backbone  of  the  rebellion  and  cut  it  in  twain." 
Near  Vicksburg  is  the  largest  national  cemetery  in  the  country,  containing  the  remains 
of  sixteen  thousand  soldiers.  Vicksburg  is  about  equidistant  between  New  Orleans  and 
Memphis,  the  latter  city  being  a  very  important  mart.  About  one  hundred  and  sixty 
miles  below  Memphis  the  Mississippi  crosses  its  valley  westward  to  meet  the  waters  of 
the  Arkansas  and  White  Rivers.  The  Arkansas  is  a  great  river,  two  thousand  miles 
long,  for  eight  hundred  miles  of  which  it  is  navigable  by  steamers.  It  has  its  rise  in 
the  Rocky  Mountains,  and  is  only  second  to  the  Missouri  as  a  tributary  of  the  Mis- 
sissippi. Between  the  latitude  of  the  mouth  of  the  Arkansas  and  that  of  Baton  Rouge 
lies  the  great  cotton  -  growing  region  in  the  valleys  of  the  Mississippi  and  its  tributa- 
ries, and  it  is  this  fact  which  gives  significance  to  the  life  and  characteristics  of  the 
whole  region.  Lack  of  space  prevents  our  making  any  further  detailed  mention  of  cit- 
ies and  towns  in  the  valley  of  the  lower  Mississippi,  but  this  chapter  can  not  be  prop- 
erly closed  without  some  account  of  the  cotton-culture,  the  great  Southern  staple,  a 
belief  in  the  royalty  of  which,  both  in  agriculture  and  politics,  had  so  much  to  do 
with  the  inception  of  "the  late  unpleasantness." 

Cotton-planting  begins  about  the  first  of  April,  and,  from  this  time  to  the  gather- 
ing of  the  crop,  it  demands  constant  attention,  even  as  the  sugar-cane  does,  and  un- 
like the  staple  crops  of  the  North,  which  give  the  farmer  considerable  intermissions. 
A  variety  of  dangerous  insects  molest  the  young  cotton-plant,  and  the  care  of  watch- 


512 


OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 


ing  against  these  is  very  great.  Nothing  can  be  more  striking  to  the  eye  than  the 
appearance  of  a  cotton-field  of  large  extent  when  the  snowy  globes  are  ready  for  pick- 
ing, and  the  swart  workmen  with  sacks  on  their  shoulders  wander  between  the  rows 
culling  their  fleeces.  From  the  very  beginning,  when  the  plant  first  appears  above 
the  ground,  it  is  beautiful.  In  June,  when  the  blossoms  change  their  color  from  day 
to  day,  a  cotton  -  plantation  looks  like  a  great  flower-garden.  In  the  morning  the 
blooms  are  often  of  a  pale  straw-color,  at  noon  of  a  pure  white,  in  the  afternoon  of 
a  faint  pink,  and  the  next  morning  of  a  perfect  pink.  This  is  the  case,  however, 
only  of  the  upland  cotton,  the  Sea-Island  product  always  remaining  a  pale  yellow. 
When  the  flowers  fall  away  and  the  young  bolls  appear,  the  negroes  have  to  watch 


Slithering   Cotton,. 

with  great  care  for  the  appearance  of  the  cotton-worm — a  deadly  enemy  to  the  plant. 
There  are  many  varieties  of  these  worms,  and  they  breed  with  astonishing  rapidity, 
sometimes  cutting  off  the  entire  crop  of  some  districts.  There  is  a  popular  belief  that 
these  worms  appear  at  intervals  of  three  years  in  the  same  district,  and  that  their 
greatest  ravages  occur  every  twenty-one  years.  They  attack  no  other  crop  but  cotton, 
but  against  this  they  wage  the  most  devastating  war.  The  planters  build  fires  in  the 
fields  about  the  time  the  moths  begin  to  appear,  hoping  thus  to  destroy  the  parent 
insect.  If  they  accomplish  this  they  prevent  the  appearance  of  the  second  and  third 
broods,  and  thus  limit  the  ravages  of  the  worm  ;  but  the  remedy  is  rarely  under- 
token  sooii  enough.  Another  insidious  foe  is  the  boll -worm  moth,  a  tawny  creature, 


THE  LOWLANDS   OF  THE  SOUTH.  513 

which  in  the  summer  and  autumn  evenings  hovers  over  the  cotton  -  blooms  and  de- 
posits a  single  egg  in  each.  In  three  or  four  days  the  worm  comes  out  of  the  egg 
and  eats  its  way  into  the  heart  of  the  boll,  which  falls  to  the  ground,  but  not  before 
the  worm  has  attacked  another  boll.  Plantations  have  sometimes  been  so  devastated 
by  these  pests  that  they  seemed  as  if  a  blast  of  lightning  had  scathed  them,  the  bolls 
having  been  completely  cut  down. 

During  the  picking-season,  which  begins  in  September,  plantation-life  is  busy  and 
merry.  In  these  seasons,  in  addition  to  the  regular  force,  help  is  recruited  from  the 
multitude  of  negroes  who  wander  from  plantation  to  plantation  like  the  hop -gather- 
ers or  the  harvest-hands  of  the  West.  By  the  middle  of  October  the  season  is  at  its 
height.  Each  laborer  is  expected  to  pick  from  two  to  three  hundred  pounds  of  cot- 
ton a  day,  and  as  fast  as  the  fleeces  are  picked  they  are  carried,  either  in  wagons,  or 
in  baskets  on  the  heads  of  negroes,  to  the  gin-house.  There,  if  the  cotton  be  damp, 
it  is  dried  in  the  sun,  and  then  the  fiber  is  separated  from  the  seed,  to  which  it  is 
quite  firmly  attached. 

Nothing  can  be  simpler  yet  more  efficient  than  the  ordinary  cotton-gin,  which  still 
preserves  the  main  features  incorporated  by  Whitney,  the  first  inventor.  It  may  be 
justly  said  that  this  man  did  more  than  any  other  one  to  perpetuate  slavery,  for  it  was 
the  invention  of  the  cotton-gin  which  made  slavery  enormously  profitable.  A  series  of 
circular  saws  are  set  on  the  main  cylinder,  and  the  latter  is  brought  into  contact  with 
a  mass  of  cotton  separated  from  it  by  steel  gratings.  The  teeth  of  the  saws,  playing 
between  the  bars,  catch  the  cotton  and  draw  it  through,  leaving  the  seeds  behind.  A 
set  of  stiff  brushes  underneath  the  saws,  revolving  on  another  cylinder  moving  in  an 
opposite  direction,  removes  the  lint  from  off  the  saw-teeth,  and  a  revolving  fan,  pro- 
ducing a  rapid  current  of  air,  throws  the  lint  to  a  convenient  distance  from  the  gin. 
The  ginning  of  Sea-Island  cotton,  as  practiced  in  South  Carolina  and  Georgia,  requires 
the  use  of  two  fluted  rollers,  made  of  wood,  vulcanized  rubber,  or  steel,  and  coming 
nearly  together.  The  rollers  move  in  opposing  directions  and  draw  the  cotton  between 
them,  while  the  seeds  can  not  pass  through  for  want  of  space.  On  small  plantations 
cotton  is  ginned  by  horse-power,  but  on  the  great  estates  steam-power  is  used.  There 
are  many  enterprising  men  who,  however,  set  up  cotton-gins  in  some  central  location, 
and  to  them  flock  all  the  small  cultivators,  black  and  white,  who  raise  from  one  to 
ten  bales  of  cotton.  This  division  of  labor,  which  has  previously  been  mentioned  in 
reference  to  the  sugar-cane  culture,  can  not  but  have  a  good  effect  in  increasing  the 
acreage  of  cotton,  and  enabling  many  to  work  for  themselves  who  previously  were 
obliged  to  work  for  others.  The  small  farms  in  the  South  are  continually  increasing, 
and  promise  great  things  for  Southern  prosperity.  The  negro,  with  his  peculiar  vices 
of  idleness  and  lack  of  care  for  the  morrow,  does  as  little  as  possible,  and  saves  noth- 
ing as  long  as  he  works,  either  on  shares  or  for  wages.  But,  if  he  toils  for  himself, 
it  may  be  assumed  that  self-interest  will  go  far  to  restrain,  if  not  to  extirpate,  his 
radical  faults.  After  the  cotton  leaves  the  gin  it  passes  to  the  press,  where  it  is 

packed  into  bales.      On  well  -  ordered  lands  the  picking  is  all  over  by  Christmas,  and 
88 


514 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


then    planters   and    laborers   alike   give    themselves    up    to    the   joys    of    the    holiday 
season. 

Such  are  some  of  the  sights  and  suggestions  of  the  valley  of  the  lower  Mississippi, 
a  region  of  our  country  full  of  picturesque  and  industrial  interest.  Previous  to  the 
late  civil  war  the  knowledge  of  it  on  the  part  of  a  large  majority  of  Northern  men 
was  vague,  and  he  who  had  traveled  thitherward  was  regarded  as  a  marked  man. 
But  if  our  four  years'  conflict  carried  with  it  much  that  was  dreadful,  it  was  not 
without  its  compensations  in  many  ways.  One  of  these  compensations  is,  that  it 
has  caused  the  men  of  the  North  and  the  men  of  the  South  to  feel  a  much  deeper 
mutual  interest,  and  to  increase  the  intimate  knowledge  which  one  section  has  of 
the  other.  So  to-day  the  Mississippi  Valley  and  the  other  low  countries  of  the  South 
seem  as  near  to  the  New-Englander  as  do  the  cities  and  prairies  of  the  great  West, 
and  not  closed  to  his  sympathy. 


A  Planter's  Houst  on  the  Mississi 


The  Ohio  Kiver,  below  Pittsburg. 


THE   OHIO  AND   UPPER  MISSISSIPPI. 


The  beginning  of  the  Ohio  at  Pittsburg — Early  history  of  the  river — Characteristics  of  the  river  and  its  navigation 
— The  interesting  towns  on  its  borders — Ohio  and  Kentucky — The  early  romance  of  Kentucky  history — Cincin- 
nati, the  "Queen  of  the  West" — The  city  of  Louisville — The  junction  of  the  Ohio  and  Mississippi — St.  Louis 
and  its  more  astonishing  features — The  mineral  wealth  of  Missouri — The  upper  Mississippi — Its  peculiarities  as 
distinguished  from  those  of  the  lower  river — Rock  Island  and  Davenport — The  beautiful  scenery  of  the  river — 
Quaint  Dubuque — La  Crosse — Features  of  river-navigation — Tremj>ealeau  and  Lake  Pepin — St.  Paul  and  the  State 
of  Minnesota — Head-waters  of  the  river. 

THE  early  French  explorers  were  so  much  delighted  with  the  smoothly  flowing, 
gentle  Ohio  River  that  they  called  it  "La  Belle  Riviere."  This  descriptive  term,  so 
well  befitting  the  stream,  is  the  equivalent  of  the  Wyandotte  name,  0-He-Yo,  which 
means  "Fair  to  look  on,"  and  thence  the  English  name  is  derived.  The  characteristics 
of  the  river  are  individual.  It  flows  mildly  along  its  entire  length,  and  no  busy, 
bustling  mills  and  factories  fret  its  waters,  and  pour  their  poisonous  refuse  into  its 
current.  But  it  has  a  busy  life  of  its  own,  nevertheless,  and  it  carries  the  burden 
of  an  important  inland  commerce.  Its  entire  length  is  a  little  more  than  a  thou- 
sand miles.  It  flows  among  the  coal  and  iron  mines  of  western  Pennsylvania  ;  it 
ripples  serenely  around  the  mountains  of  West  Virginia ;  and  laps  the  rich  corn  and 


516  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

wheat  fields  of  Ohio.  Bending  northward  toward  Cincinnati,  it  embraces  in  a  long 
curve  the  fertile  blue-grass  meadows  of  Kentucky,  and  finally  stretches  in  a  long 
sweep  toward  the  southwest,  skirting  the  southern  borders  of  Indiana  and  Illinois, 
receiving  on.  the  way  the  turbulent  waters  of  the  two  mountain  rivers,  the  Cumber- 
land and  Tennessee  ;  and  at  last  mixes  its  waters  with  the  Mississippi  at  Cairo.  This 
noble  river  suggests  the  German  ideal  of  a  life  of  effective  worth,  "without  haste, 
without  rest "  ;  for  its  serenely  flowing  stream  is  busy  with  a  most  important  func- 
tion in  our  inland  navigation. 

The  river  is  formed  from  the  junction  of  two  rivers,  the  Alleghany  and  the 
Monongahela,  the  former  a  clear  mountain  river,  and  the  latter  a  turbid  yellow 
stream.  The  two  unite  at  Pittsburg  to  make  a  water-course  which,  before  it  is 
absorbed  in  the  Mississippi,  receives  seventy-five  tributaries,  forms  the  boundary  line  of 
five  States,  and  shows  the  smiling  faces  of  a  hundred  islands  interspersing  its  stream. 
The  shores  are  full  of  contrast.  Now,  one  sees  round-topped,  green  hills,  now  fat, 
rolling  fields  of  grass  and  grain,  now  abrupt  steeps,  where  the  original  forest  remains 
in  all  its  primeval  density  and  wildness,  even  as  it  appeared  to  the  first  explorers. 
The  river  so  bends  and  twists  that  it  is  knotted  like  a  tangled  silver  thread  over  the 
country  ;  every  turn  giving  a  charming  new  view.  In  the  early  spring,  when  the  face 
of  the  country  is  green  with  verdure  and  enameled  with  flowers,  Ohio  River  travel  is 
very  charming  for  one  who  is  in  no  great  haste.  The  steamboats,  which  are  all 
stern-wheelers,  go  slowly  up  and  down,  like  floating  summer  birds,  whistling  to  each 
other  for  the  channel,  according  to  the  load.  The  crews  are  motley,  and  the  blacks 
and  whites  work  together  on  terms  of  perfect  good-nature  and  equality.  The  leisurely 
way  in  which  everything  is  done  extorts  the  admiration  of  the  Northern  man,  accus- 
tomed to  a  complex  and  energetic  system  of  business,  where  every  detail  is  rigidly 
administered. 

As  the  Ohio  steamboat  rounds  a  bend,  there  appears  on  the  bank  in  the  distance 
a  man  who  signals  with  his  hat.  The  engine  slackens  up,  and  the  boat  is  slowly 
veered  around  to  the  bank,  into  which  it  runs  its  round  snout.  The  lazy  deck-hands 
thrust  out  a  plank,  and  proceed  to  take  their  own  time  about  transferring  to  the  deck 
what  freight  there  may  be  waiting.  So  the  river-craft  proceeds,  picking  up  freight 
and  passengers  in  a  miscellaneous,  slip-shod  way,  highly  amusing  to  the  unaccustomed 
eye.  The  ease  with  which  these  boats  land  is  a  strange  feat.  They  often  turn  right 
into  the  bank,  and  the  passengers  may  step  on  or  off  without  the  help  of  a  gang- 
plank, though  at  the  towns  and  villages  on  the  river  there  is  often  a  rude  levee,  or, 
at  least,  an  old  flat-boat  moored  against  the  shore,  as  a  sort  of  rude  wharf.  These 
steamers,  large,  handsome,  well-appointed  for  the  comfort  of  the  traveler,  are  almost 
all  on  the  surface,  as  they  necessarily  draw  but  a  few  feet  of  water,  owing  to  the  shal- 
lowness  of  the  river.  When  they  run  aground,  a  common  occurrence,  down  drops  a 
great  beam,  fastened  with  tackle  like  a  derrick  on  the  bow,  and  this,  having  been 
thrust  into  the  river-bottom,  the  boat  is  pried  off,  and  she  resumes  her  course.  If 
there  is  a  fog  on  the  river,  the  prudent  captain  ties  up  to  the  bank  and  spends  the 


THE   OHIO   AND    UPPER   MISSISSIPPI.  517 

night.  Though  the  voyage  from  Pittsburg  to  Cincinnati  is  long,  the  passenger,  if  it 
be  the  spring  of  the  year,  when  everything  is  green  and  glowing,  does  not  regret  it, 
as  he  glides  along  the  skirts  of  Ohio  farms,  Virginia  mountains,  and  the  rich  meadow- 
lands  of  Kentucky. 

The  mouth  of  the  Ohio  was  discovered  in  1680,  but  it  was  not  till  seventy  years 
afterward  that  the  French  explored  its  unknown  waters.  In  1750  Captain  Celeron,  with 
a  detachment  of  soldiers,  took  possession  of  the  Ohio  River  Valley  under  orders  from 
the  Governor-General  of  Canada.  This  he  did  by  depositing  numerous  metal  plates 
along  the  shore,  on  which  were  engraved  these  words:  "In  the  year  1750,  we,  Cele- 
ron, commandant  of  a  detachment  by  orders  of  Monsieur  the  Marquis  de  Gallisoniere, 
Commander-in-  Chief  of  New  France,  to  establish  tranquillity  in  certain  Indian  villages 
of  these  cantons,  have  buried  this  plate  on  'The  Beautiful  River'  as  a  monument  of 
renewal  of  possession  of  the  river  and  its  tributaries,  and  of  all  the  land  on  both 
sides  ;  inasmuch  as  the  preceding  kings  have  engaged  it  and  maintained  it  by  their 
arms  and  by  treaties,  especially  by  those  of  Ryswick,  Utrecht,  and  Aix-la-Chapelle." 
Several  of  these  interesting  memorials  have  been  dug  up  on  the  banks  of  the  Ohio. 
The  "beautiful  river"  and  its  tributaries,  however  peaceful  and  smiling  their  present 
look,  were  not  always  so,  for  continual  fighting  took  place  on  their  banks  from  the 
first  grandiose  proclamation  of  the  French  captain,  down  to  the  final  defeat  of  the 
Indian  tribes,  banded  under  Tecumseh,  by  General  Harrison.  It  was  at  Pittsburg  that 
the  French  built  Fort  Duquesne  in  1754,  and  it  was  near  here  that  Braddock's 
defeat  occurred  the  year  following,  and  George  Washington's  name  began  to  be 
famous.  In  1758  the  English  retrieved  their  laurels,  and  renamed  the  captured  Fort 
Duquesne  after  Pitt,  Earl  of  Chatham,  then  the  English  premier.  The  little  post 
held  a  precarious  existence  until  Pontiac's  conspiracy  swept  the  country  like  a  tor- 
nado. Fort  Pitt  escaped  the  fate  of  the  other  nine  garrisons  which  fell  before  the 
Indian  hero,  through  the  gallantry  of  Colonel  Banquet,  who  broke  the  Indian  leaguer 
and  brought  supplies  to  the  starving  defenders.  When  the  French  gave  up  their 
claim  to  the  Northwestern  Territory,  but  a  short  time  elapsed  before  the  contest 
between  the  Americans  and  English  arose.  Fort  Pitt  was  abandoned  by  the  British, 
and  so  a  post  which  cost  that  government  sixty  thousand  pounds  sterling,  and  which 
had  been  designed  to  perpetuate  for  ever  the  British  Empire  on  the  "  beautiful 
river,"  passed  into  the  hands  of  the  insurgent  colonies. 

Pittsburg  of  to-day  looks  in  the  distance  like  a  huge  volcano,  continually  belching 
forth  smoke  and  flames.  By  day  a  great  pall  rests  over  the  city,  obscuring  the  sun, 
and  by  night  the  glow  and  flash  of  the  almost  numberless  iron-mills  which  fill  the 
valley  and  cover  the  hill-sides,  light  the  sky  with  a  fiery  glare.  This  great  workshop 
of  the  modern  Cyclops  is  one  of  the  most  important  manufacturing  centers  of  the 
country,  and  embodies  our  most  valuable  interests  in  iron  and  steel  manufactures.  In 
close  proximity  to  the  great  coal  and  iron  region,  its  opportunities  for  success  in  such 
branches  of  industry  are  without  a  peer.  Though  the  suburbs  of  the  city  are  beau- 
tiful and  contain  many  charming  residences,  the  aspect  of  the  city  itself  is  grimy  and 


518  OUK    NATIVE  LAND. 

gloomy,  in  spite  of  the  noble  business  blocks  and  open,  spacious  streets.  Anthony 
Trollope  wrote,  "  It  is  the  blackest  place  I  was  ever  in,  but  its  very  blackness  is  pict- 
uresque"; and  Parton  writes  in  his  coarse  but  graphic  style,  "It  is  all  hell,  with  the 
lid  taken  off."  The  smoke  and  fires  of  Pittsburg  make  its  most  characteristic  feat- 
ure, but  there  is  much  to  interest  the  visitor  in  the  nature  of  the  inland  navigation, 
which  centers  at  its  wharves.  Here  may  be  seen  steamboats  and  flat-boats  which  have 
come  all  the  way  from  New  Orleans  and  St.  Louis,  and  the  various  water-craft  which 
lie  at  the  levee  embrace  every  sort  of  river-boat. 

The  Ohio  River  starts  in  a  northwesterly  direction,  and  from  the  very  outset 
the  country  along  its  banks  shows  signs  of  the  highest  cultivation,  though  here  and 
there  are  mountainous  tracts  full  of  wildness  and  savagery.  The  queer  old  town  of 
Economy,  the  home  of  a  band  of  German  communists,  is  about  twenty  miles  from 
Pittsburg.  Its  ancient  houses,  tiled  roofs,  grass-grown  streets,  and  profound  quiet, 
are  startling  in  contrast  with  the  busy  world  outside.  Here  there  are  no  marriages, 
no  homes,  no  children,  only  ancient  brothers  and  sisters,  the  last  one  of  whom  will 
inherit  the  riches  of  the  community,  which  are  very  considerable.  When  the  last 
brother  is  gone,  the  property  will  go,  no  one  knows  where. 

When  the  river  reaches  the  State  of  Ohio  it  makes  a  bend  southward  and  skirts 
the  queer  little  strip  of  land  which  West  Virginia  thrusts  out,  like  a  long,  slender 
tongue,  between  Pennsylvania  and  Ohio.  Over  this  narrow  stretch  of  land  there  were 
years  of  protracted  litigation  after  the  Revolutionary  War,  for  the  land-titles  were  in 
a  state  of  inextricable  confusion.  This  arm  of  land  is  called  the  Panhandle.  Wheel- 
ing, the  principal  city  of  the  Panhandle  region,  is  a  flourishing  place,  which  has  grown 
steadily  in  manufacturing  importance  till  it  has  become  an  important  center.  The 
Virginia  side  of  the  Ohio  is  wild  and  forest-clad,  with  abrupt  mountains  and  tangled 
thickets.  This,  during  the  late  war,  was  a  favorite  arena  for  guerrilla  warfare  and 
cavalry  raids,  and  it  was  swept  by  both  armies  with  merciless  severity,  though  there 
were  no  grand  battles  fought.  Passing  down  the  Ohio,  a  few  miles  below  Wheeling 
we  find  the  charming  town  of  Marietta  on  the  Ohio  side,  said  to  be  the  oldest  town 
in  the  State.  The  site  is  a  picturesque  one,  in  a  deep  bend  where  the  Muskingum 
flows  into  the  Ohio,  and  it  was  settled  in  1787  by  the  New  England  Ohio  Company, 
who  took  up  one  million  five  hundred  thousand  acres  of  land.  When  these  New 
England  pioneers  landed  from  their  flat-boat,  the  first  thing  they  did  was  to  write  a 
code  of  laws,  which  they  nailed  up  to  a  tree.  This  colony  was  established  under 
very  favorable  auspices,  and,  though  it  languished  for  a  while,  it  soon  took  a  vigorous 
start.  Fed  by  streams  of  fresh  immigrants,  it  sent  out  detachments  to  other  sections, 
and  became  the  parent  town  of  the  State.  It  is  singular  that  ship-building  was  once 
an  important  branch  of  industry  at  this  Ohio  town,  and  that  a  ship  built  here  in 
1806  sailed  down  the  Ohio  to  New  Orleans,  thence  to  Liverpool,  and  thence  to  St. 
Petersburg.  At  the  latter  city  it  was  seized  by  the  port  officials,  under  the  plea 
that  the  papers  must  be  false,  as  there  was  no  such  port  in  the  world,  and  only 
released  with  considerable  difficulty.  A  short  distance  below  Marietta,  and  just  above 


THE   OHIO  AND    UPPER  MISSISSIPPI. 


519 


Parkersburg,  is  Blennerhassett's  Island,  the  romantic  history  of  which  is  a  very  sad 
and  pathetic  story.  Harman  Blennerhassett  was  an  Irish  gentleman  of  large  wealth 
and  of  good  family,  who  bought  the  island,  called  by  his  name,  in  1797.  Here,  with 


his  brilliant  and  beautiful  wife,  he  lived  in  a  little  paradise  which  his  wealth  and 
taste  enabled  him  to  make.  The  island-home  was  widely  celebrated  for  the  attractions 
of  its  elegant  hospitality.  In  1805  Aaron  Burr,  by  his  blandishments,  enlisted  Blen- 
nerhassett in  his  Mexican  schemes,  according  to  which  Burr  was  to  become  an  em- 


520  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

peror,  and  Blennerhassett  a  great  grandee.  The  scheme  collapsed,  and  the  conspirators 
were  tried  for  treason.  Though  Blennerhassett  was  acquitted,  he  was  bankrupt  in 
fortune  and  hope,  and  died  a  broken-hearted  man,  after  years  of  further  struggle,  the 
victim  of  one  of  the  most  unscrupulous  men  ever  produced  by.  America.  At  Par- 
kersburg,  West  Virginia,  the  Little  Kanawha  River  flows  into  the  Ohio,  and  here  is 
the  massive  railway-bridge  of  the  Baltimore  &  Ohio  Railway  Company,  one  of  the 
finest  structures  of  its  kind  in  the  United  States.  Some  thirty  miles  below  Parkers- 
burg,  the  Big  Kanawha  pours  its  swift  mountain-current  into  the  Ohio  River.  Point 
Pleasant,  which  is  at  the  mouth,  was  the  scene  of  one  of  the  bloodiest  of  Indian  bat- 
tles, where  in  1774  a  thousand  Americans  defeated  the  flower  of  the  Western  tribes 
under  the  leadership  of  the  famous  Cornstalk,  and  thus  saved  the  Ohio  and  Virginia 
settlements  from  general  massacre. 

At  the  mouth  of  the  Big  Sandy  River  the  Ohio  touches  the  boundary  of  Ken- 
tucky, and  thenceforward  defines  the  northern  limit  of  that  beautiful  State,  dividing 
its  rolling  blue-grass  meadows  from  the  fertile  corn-fields  of  Ohio.  Stretching  back 
from  the  river,  on  the  Kentucky  side,  are  magnificent  parks.  One  sees  no  culti- 
vated fields,  no  fences,  and  but  few  trees,  except  a  few  patriarchal  clumps  of  great 
size  here  and  there  dotting  the  rich  green  expanse  which  stretches  away  a  sea  of 
luxuriant  verdure.  This  is  the  unrivaled  grazing-ground  of  America,  and  the  wealth 
of  the  people  is  in  their  flocks  and  herds.  Kentuckians  justly  boast  that  the  finest 
horses  and  cattle  are  raised  in  the  beautiful  "blue-grass  country,"  and  it  is  pretty 
generally  conceded  that  here  is  one  of  the  rural  paradises  of  the  country.  The 
name  gets  its  meaning  from  the  blue  tint  of  the  grass  when  in  blossom.  This  dis- 
trict embraces  some  ten  counties  on  the  Ohio,  stretching  back  into  the  interior  as  far 
as  the  Cumberland  River ;  and  here  you  may  ride  for  miles  over  the  richest  green 
pastures,  and  continually  pass  herds  of  choice  cattle  and  horses. 

This  beautiful  region  was  once  known  as  the  "  Dark  and  Bloody  Ground,"  and 
was,  in  the  early  time  of  its  settlement,  covered  in  large  part  with  a  dense  forest. 
It  was  a  famous  and  favorite  hunting-ground  of  the  Indians,  and  here,  long  before 
Boone  and  his  heroic  companions  came  to  found  a  new  home  for  the  white  man, 
Indian  tradition  tells  us,  were  fought  some  of  the  most  savage  battles  between  the 
Indian  tribes  themselves,  anxious  for  supremacy  of  a  land  so  gifted  with  everything 
that  made  life  desirable — great  profusion  and  variety  of  game,  the  purest  and  clearest 
streams  abounding  with  fish,  and  an  alternation  of  majestic  forest  with  rolling 
meadow.  Until  1747  no  Anglo-Saxon  had  seen  this  fair  region,  but  reports  of  it  soon 
spread  into  Virginia  and  North  Carolina.  From  the  latter  State  in  1769  came  Daniel 
Boone,  one  of  the  most  celebrated  of  our  early  pioneer  heroes,  who  took  possession  of 
the  land  and  annexed  it  to  the  white  man's  domain.  He  remained  three  years  dur- 
ing the  first  visit,  and  then  returned  to  North  Carolina  to  take  his  family  back  to  the 
new  hunting-ground  he  had  discovered.  Boone  and  the  companions  who  soon  joined 
him  made  good  their  stand  against  their  savage  foes,  and  their  feats  are  among  the 
finest  things  in  the  records  of  our  border  chivalry.  The  country  is  full  of  legends  of 


THE   OHIO  AND    UPPER  MISSISSIPPI. 


521 


the  grand  old  hunter  and  his  exploits,  and  his  name  lingers  on  rocks  and  streams. 
As  immigration  poured  into  Kentucky,  the  old  hunter  and  Indian-tighter,  who  had 
founded  a  commonwealth,  became  impatient  of  the  too  near  approach  of  civilization. 
He  was  now  alone  in  the  world. 
So,  shouldering  his  rifle,  he  went 
to  Missouri,  where  he  could  ex- 
ist far  away  from  the  converse 
of  his  kind.  Here  he  died  in 
1820,  at  the  age  of  eighty-nine. 
The  people  of  Kentucky  have 
.since  brought  back  the  bones  of 
the  old  pioneer,  and  interred 
them  with  honor  on  the  banks 
of  the  Ohio,  not  far  from  the 
place  he  had  for  so  many  years 
made  his  home. 

There  is  probably  no  State 
in  the  Union  more  agreeable  in 
its  climate,  more  favored  in  the 
richness  and  diversity  of  its  soil, 
and  in  the  distribution  of  moun- 
tain and  stream,  forest  and  open, 
than  Kentucky.  Not  only  is  it 
famous  for  its  production  of  fine 
stock,  but  it  ranks  very  high 
as  a  wheat  and  corn  growing 
State,  and  it  need  hardly  be 
said  that  its  whisky  has  a  na- 
tional reputation.  Kentuckians 
are  widely  known  for  their  hos- 
pitality and  cordial  warmth  of 
disposition,  and,  as  for  physical 
beauty,  no  such  fine  race  of 
men  and  women  has  been  pro- 
duced on  the  North  American 
Continent.  The  largeness  of 
physique,  so  generally  charac- 
teristic of  the  people  of  Kentucky,  has  often  been  attributed  to  the  limestone-water 
which  is  common  throughout  the  State.  This  seems  more  than  probable,  as  the  blue- 
grass  region,  in  which  the  depth  and  uniformity  of  the  blue  limestone  stratum  are 
more  pronounced  than  elsewhere,  is  specially  noted  not  only  for  its  splendid  race- 
horses and  fine  blooded  cattle,  but  for  the  perfection  of  the  human  animals  bred 


522 


OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 


there.  A  representative  collection  of  Kentuckian  men  and  women  would  probably 
display  as  noble  physical  examples  of  the  human  race  as  can  be  found  in  the  world. 
The  two  sides  of  the  river,  as  one  approaches  Cincinnati,  present  a  notable  con- 
trast, though  each  is  beautiful  after  its  kind.  On  one  side  are  the  luxuriant  rolling 
parks  and  meadows  of  the  blue  -  grass  region ;  on  the  other,  the  hills  and  valleys 
of  Ohio,  the  latter  rustling  with  corn  and  wheat  fields,  the  former  covered  with 
vineyards  to  the  very  summit.  The  grape-culture  has  become  a  very  important 
interest  in  Ohio,  and  the  manufacture  of  wine  is  now  one  of  the  recognized  in- 
dustries of  the  State.  Millions  of  gallons  of  both  still  and  sparkling  wines  are 
made  annually,  and  sold  all  over  the  United  States,  some  portion  of  the  product 
even  being  exported  to  Europe.  It  was  owing  to  the  long  and  patient  experiments 
of  Nicholas  Longworth,  of  Cincinnati,  that  the  wine  industry  of  Ohio  became 
established  on  a  permanently  successful  basis.  The  hill-sides  on  the  north  bank  of 


the  Ohio  River,  with  their  sunny  exposure  and  limestone  foundation,  seem  to  be 
admirably  suited  to  the  growth  of  the  best  wine-grapes.  The  State  of  Ohio  yields 
now  about  one  fifth  of  the  wine  product  of  the  United  States,  and  in  quality  it  is 
perhaps,  on  the  whole,  better  than  the  yield  of  any  other  State,  though  California 
and  Missouri  approach  it  nearly  in  this  respect.  The  city  of  Cincinnati,  known  under 
the  sobriquet  of  the  "Queen  of  the  West,"  was  first  settled  two  years  after  the  Dec- 
laration of  American  Independence.  It  received  its  somewhat  grandiose  title  from  the 
unfortunate  General  St.  Clair,  whose  name  was  for  a  long  time  a  synonym  for  defeat 
and  ill-luck  in  the  Indian  wars  of  the  West.  The  name  was  given  after  the  dis- 
tinguished military  order,  now  extinct,  "The  Cincinnati,"  to  which  most  of  our  earlier 
celebrities  belonged.  This  christening  rescued  the  infant  city  from  the  threat  of  a 
burden  which  it  would  have  been  hard  to  survive — the  name  of  Losantiville :  L,  the 
first  letter  of  the  river  Licking,  which  flows  into  the  Ohio  on  the  Kentucky  side  ;  os,  the 
mouth  ;  anti,  opposite  to  ;  and  mile,  a  city.  The  name  of  the  author  of  this  ingenious 


THE   OHIO  AND    UPPER   MISSISSIPPI.  523 

appellation  has  not  survived  the  wrack  of  time.  There  is  a  sentimental  story  con- 
nected with  the  founding  of  Cincinnati.  There  were  two  other  rival  settlements  on 
the  river,  and  all  were  striving  for  the  possession  of  the  United  States  fort.  North 
Bend  had  been  selected,  and  work  begun  in  laying  the  foundations  of  the  post.  It 
seems  that  the  United  States  officer  in  command  fell  in  love  with  the  wife  of  one  of 
the  settlers,  and  very  naturally  the  husband  objected.  So  the  latter  moved  out  of 
North  Bend,  and  went  to  Cincinnati  to  live.  By  a  strange  coincidence,  the  gallant 
soldier  at  the  same  time  discovered  that  Cincinnati  was  a  much  more  desirable  place 
for  a  fort,  so  he  transferred  all  his  materials,  and  marched  his  command  to  the  new 
site,  thus  establishing  the  beginning  of  the  prosperity  of  the  city,  and  leaving  the 
unlucky  North  Bend  to  its  fate.  For  a  number  of  years,  a  continual  series  of  difficul- 
ties with  the  Indians  retarded  the  growth  of  the  town,  a  fate  it  shared  in  common 
with  most  other  leading  Western  settlements.  In  1800  the  population  had  grown  to 
seven  hundred  and  fifty,  and  in  1814  it  was  incorporated  as  a  city.  The  building  of 
the  Miami  Canal  in  1830  was  a  very  important  epoch  in  the  progress  of  the  place, 
and  during  the  next  decade  the  increase  of  population  was  eighty-five  per  cent.  The 
first  of  the  many  railways  now  centering  in  Cincinnati,  the  Little  Miami,  was  finished 
in  1840,  and  so  great  a  stimulus  was  thus  added  to  the  life  of  the  city  that  in  1850 
the  population  reached  115,436.  Cincinnati  by  the  last  census  was  estimated  at  255,- 
708,  which  in  connection  with  the  suburbs  would  entitle  it  to  about  four  hundred 
thousand  people,  estimated  from  its  stand-point  as  a  metropolis.  It  is  one  of  the 
leading  commercial  centers  of  the  West,  and  its  principal  industries  are  the  manufact- 
ures of  iron,  furniture,  boots  and  shoes,  clothing,  beer  and  whisky,  machinery,  and 
steamboats. 

Cincinnati  has  a  frontage  of  ten  miles  on  the  river,  and  extends  back  about  three 
miles,  occupying  half  of  a  valley  bisected  by  the  river,  on  the  opposite  side  of  which 
are  the  cities  of  Covington  and  Newport,  Kentucky.  It  is  surrounded  by  hills  about 
four  hundred  and  fifty  feet  in  height,  forming  one  of  the  most  beautiful  amphi- 
theatres on  the  continent,  from  whose  hill-tops  may  be  seen  the  splendid  panorama 
of  the  cities  below,  and  the  winding  Ohio.  Cincinnati  is  principally  built  upon  two 
terraces,  the  first  sixty  and  the  second  one  hundred  and  twelve  feet  above  the  river. 
The  latter  has  been  graded  to  an  easy  slope,  terminating  at  the  base  of  the  hills. 
The  streets  are  laid  out  with  great  regularity,  crossing  each  other  at  right  angles, 
are  broad  and  well  paved,  and  for  the  most  part  beautifully  shaded.  The  business 
portion  of  the  city  is  compactly  built,  a  fine  drab  freestone  being  the  material  chiefly 
used.  The  outer  highland  belt  of  the  city  is  beautified  by  costly  residences  which 
stand  in  the  midst  of  extensive  and  neatly  adorned  grounds,  the  favorite  building 
material  being  blue  limestone.  The  suburbs  on  the  hill-tops  are  very  charming 
and  well  worthy  of  a  stranger's  visit,  rivaling,  though  entirely  different  in  character, 
the  suburbs  of  Boston.  The  streets  of  Cincinnati  are  attractive,  but  there  is  no 
great  predominating  avenue  of  travel,  like  Broadway,  New  York,  or  even  Chestnut 
Street,  Philadelphia.  Many  of  the  public  buildings  and  private  business  structures, 


524 


OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 


however,  will  very  well  bear  comparison  with  those  of  any  other  American  city.  One 
of  the  most  interesting  objects  in  this  city  is  the  Tyler  Davidson  Fountain,  a  gift 
by  a  public-spirited  man  of  wealth.  It  stands  on  a  freestone  esplanade  four  hundred 
feet  long  and  sixty  feet  wide.  In  the  center  of  a  porphyry-rimmed  basin  forty  feet 
in  diameter  is  the  quatrefoil  Saxon  porphyry  base  supporting  the  bronze-work,  whose 
base  is  twelve  feet  square  and  six  feet  high,  with  infant  figures  at  each  corner  repre- 
senting the  delights  of  children  in  water.  Bass-relief  figures  around  the  base  represent 


View  on  the  Rhine,  Cincinnati, 

the  various  uses  of  water  to  mankind.  From  the  upper  part  of  the  bronze  base 
extend  four  great  basins,  and  from  the  center  rises  a  column,  up  whose  sides  vines 
ascend  and  branch  at  the  top  in  palm-like  frondage.  Around  this  column  are  groups 
of  statuary ;  and  on  its  summit  stands  a  gigantic  female  figure,  with  outstretched 
;irms,  the  water  raining  down  in  fine  spray  from  her  fingers.  The  work  was  cast  in 
Munich,  and  cost  nearly  two  hundred  thousand  dollars.  It  plays  during  warm  days 
from  morning  till  midnight,  and  is  always  the  center  of  an  admiring  or  a  thirsty 
crowd. 


THE   OHIO  AND    UPPER  MISSISSIPPI.  525 

Those  whose  thirst  needs  to  be  quenched  by  something  different  from  water  find 
their  steps  drawn  as  if  by  some  irresistible  attraction  to  that  portion  of  the  city 
known  as  "  Over  the  Rhine,"  the  celebrated  German  river  being  represented  by  the 
Miami  Canal.  This,  it  need  not  be  said,  is  the  Teutonic  part  of  the  city.  More 
than  a  third  of  the  people  of  Cincinnati  are  either  Germans  or  of  German  parentage, 
and  "Over  the  Rhine,"  where  they  principally  live,  seems  almost  a  foreign  city  to 
the  visitor.  No  language  is  spoken  here  but  German,  the  signs  and  placards  are  all 
in  that  language,  and  the  aspect  and  atmosphere  of  the  section  are  essentially  foreign. 
The  business,  dwellings,  theatres,  halls,  churches,  and  especially  the  beer-gardens, 
many  of  which  are  magnificent,  all  remind  the  European  tourist  of  Germany.  There 
are  several  fine  parks  in  the  city,  the  principal  one  called  Eden,  which  contains  two 
hundred  and  sixteen  acres,  beautifully  laid  out.  The  general  impression  of  the  city 
made  on  the  mind  of  the  stranger  is  that  of  a  far  more  leisurely  and  serene  life 
than  is  associated  with  such  cities  as  New  York  and  Chicago,  where  the  blood  of 
humanity  seems  to  be  at  fever-heat  from  morn  till  set  of  sun,  and  each  man  straining 
to  outdo  his  rival  in  the  race  of  enterprise.  Below  Cincinnati,  again,  the  river- 
voyager  is  greeted  with  the  vision  of  beautiful  vine-clad  hills  laid  out  in  serried  ranks, 
and  laughing  with  the  promise  of  the  ruddy-blushing  vintage.  The  borders  of  Ohio 
are  soon  reached,  and  succeeded  by  Indiana,  the  broad  fields  of  Kentucky  still  spread- 
ing on  the  other  side  of  the  river. 

The  navigation  of  the  Ohio  presents  much  that  is  curious  and  interesting.  It  is 
obstructed  by  sand-bars  and  tow-heads,  and  the  change  in  its  depths  is  very  remark- 
able, the  variation  being  not  less  than  fifty  feet  between  low  and  high  water.  In 
early  times  the  river  was  the  safest  highway,  for  here  there  was  some  chance  of 
defense  from  a  crafty  and  treacherous  foe.  So  emigrant  families  purchased  or  built 
a  flat-boat,  and  floated  down-stream,  closely  hugging  the  Kentucky  shore.  These  flats 
were  made  of  rough  planks  fastened  by  wooden  pins  to  an  oak  frame,  and  calked 
with  tow.  On  reaching  their  destination  the  emigrants  used  the  boat  for  house- 
building. As  population  grew,  and  with  it  trade,  keel-boats  and  barges  came  into 
vogue,  which  could  be  propelled  by  sail  if  there  was  wind,  or  by  long  poles,  the 
crew  walking  to  and  fro,  and  bending  over  the  toilsome  tread-mill.  Like  the  boat- 
men of  the  Mississippi,  those  of  the  Ohio  were  a  merry,  warm-hearted,  athletic, 
and  somewhat  pugnacious  race,  fond  of  love-making,  dancing,  and  fighting.  They 
talked  a  jargon  half  French,  half  Indian,  and,  when  at  night  they  drew  up  at  the 
river-beach,  the  sound  of  a  bugle  summoned  the  girls  and  youths  of  the  adjoining 
region  for  a  frolic.  Here,  then,  to  the  sound  of  a  wheezing  old  fiddle,  the  merry 
company  would  often  dance  all  night  on  the  top  of  the  flat-boat,  and  if  in  the  morn- 
ing there  were  a  few  broken  heads,  why,  no  one  harbored  any  ill-will  over  the  matter. 
These  huge  flat-boats  still  form  an  important  feature  of  the  river,  doing  much  trade 
in  a  vagabond  sort  of  way.  The  canal-boats  and  barges,  which  also  enter  so  largely 
into  the  Ohio  River  craft,  are  propelled  by  tugs,  and  these  screaming  and  puffing 
little  monsters,  specially  in  the  vicinity  of  the  larger  towns  on  the  lower  part  of 


526  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

the  river,  may  often  be  seen  pushing  a  little  flotilla  up  or  down  the  stream.  A  night 
landing  is  always  an  amusing  sight.  The  negroes  do  most  of  the  work,  like  the  roust- 
abouts on  the  Mississippi  boats,  and  enliven  toil  by  their  amusing  antics.  In  draw- 
ing up  to  a  stopping  -  place,  an  iron  basket,  filled  with  pine-knots,  is  swung  over 
the  side,  at  the  end  of  a  pole,  and  then  the  merry  blackamoors  dance  down  the 
plank  with  uncouth  step  and  ringing  laugh,  burdened  with  the  freight  to  be  landed. 

The  city  of  Louisville,  the  most  important  place  in  Kentucky,  is  a  large,  cheer- 
ful town,  and  the  pride  of  the  State.  It  is  located  on  a  site  of  great  excellence,  at 
the  Falls  of  the  Ohio,  where  Beargrass  Creek  enters  the  river.  The  hills  which  line 
the  river  through  the  greater  part  of  its  course  recede  just  above  the  city,  and  do 
not  approach  it  again  for  more  than  twenty  miles,  leaving  an  almost  level  plain  about 
six  miles  wide,  and  elevated  about  seventy  feet  above  low-water  mark.  The  falls, 
which  are  quite  picturesque,  may  be  seen  from  the  town.  In  high  stages  of  the 
water  they  disappear  almost  entirely,  and  steamboats  pass  over  them  ;  but,  when  the 
water  is  low,  the  whole  width  of  the  river  has  the  appearance  of  a  great  many  broken 
cascades  of  foam  making  their  way  over  the  rapids.  To  obviate  the  obstruction  to 
navigation  caused  by  the  falls,  a  canal,  two  and  a  half  miles  long,  has  been  cut 
around  them  to  a  place  called  Shippingport.  It  was  a  work  of  vast  labor,  being  for 
the  greater  part  of  its  course  cut  through  the  solid  rock,  and  cost  nearly  one  million 
dollars.  The  city  extends  about  three  miles  along  the  river,  and  about  four  miles 
inland,  embracing  an  area  of  thirteen  square  miles.  Louisville  was  settled  by  thirteen 
families,  who  accompanied  Colonel  George  Kogers  Clarke  in  his  expedition  down  the 
Ohio  in  1778,  and  to  be  descended  from  one  of  these  Virginian  pioneers  is  the  high- 
est brevet  of  honor  for  any  Louisvillian.  The  town  was  named  Louisville  in  1780,  in 
honor  of  the  French  king,  whose  troops  were  assisting  the  American  colonies  in  their 
struggle  for  independence.  In  1828  the  town  had  grown  to  have  ten  thousand  inhab- 
itants. The  city  is  built  on  a  sloping  plane,  seventy  feet  above  low-water  mark,  with 
broad,  fine  streets  lined  with  imposing  warehouses  near  the  river,  and  beautiful  resi- 
dences farther  back.  The  city  has  a  peculiarly  Southern  aspect  as  compared  with 
Pittsburg  and  Cincinnati,  which  are  not  very  far  north  in  latitude.  All  the  business 
and  social  characteristics  speak  of  people  essentially  different  from  those  we  have  be- 
fore met  on  the  Ohio.  Most  of  the  residences  are  set  back  from  the  street,  with 
large,  beautifully  ordered  lawns  in  front,  rich  with  flowers  and  shrubbery.  The  streets 
are  lined  with  shade-trees,  and  awnings  may  be  seen  at  nearly  every  window,  while 
the  easy-going,  leisurely  carriage  of  every  citizen  bespeaks  a  mind  eminently  contented 
with  himself,  his  city,  and  his  State.  Life  in  Louisville  is  socially  very  agreeable. 
"Nowhere  in  the  country,"  says  a  recent  writer  on  the  South,  "are  frankness  and 
freedom  of  manner  so  thoroughly  commingled  with  so  much  of  high-bred  courtesy. 
The  people  of  Kentucky  really,  as  Tuckerman  says,  illustrate  one  of  the  highest  phases 
of  Western  character.  They  spring  from  a  hardy  race  of  hunters  and  self-reliant  men, 
accustomed  to  the  chase  and  to  long  and  perilous  exertion.  The  men  of  Kentucky, 
while  they  are  not  afflicted  with  any  peculiar  idiosyncrasies,  are  intensely  individual. 


THE   OHIO  AND    UPPER   MISSISSIPPI. 


527 


Louimille,  Ky.,  from  the  Blind  Asylum. 

There  is  something  inspiring  in  the 
figure  of  a  grand  old  patriarch  like 
Christopher  Graham,  who  was  living 
a  few  years  ago,  then  in  his  ninety- 
second  year,  erect,  vigorous,  and  alert 
as  an  Englishman  at  sixty.  Born  in 
the  wild  woods  of  Kentucky  five  years 
before  it  became  a  State,  he  has  lived 
to  see  a  mighty  change  pass  over  the 

Commonwealth  where  he  cast  his  fortunes ;  and  he  delights  to  tell  of  the  days  when 
men  went  about  their  daily  work  rifle  in  hand,  and  when  the  State  was  constantly 
troubled  with  Indian  incursions.  Mr.  Graham  was  long  noted  as  the  best  marksman, 
with  a  rifle,  in  America,  and  has  had  in  his  eventful  life  a  hundred  adventures  with 
Indian,  guerrilla,  and  bandit.  The  product  of  a  rough,  and,  in  some  respects,  barbar- 
ous time,  when  shooting,  swimming,  leaping,  wrestling,  and  killing  Indians  were  the 
only  exercises  considered  manly,  he  is  to-day  a  gentle  old  man,  busied  with  works  of 
charity,  and  with  the  upbuilding  of  a  fine  museum  of  mineralogy  in  Louisville." 

The  trade  of  Louisville  is  very  large.     It  is  probably  the  most  extensive  leaf-tobacco 
market  in  the  world,  and  in  live-stock  and  provisions  it  is  one  of  the  most  important 


538  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

centers  of  the  West.  It  is  the  great  distributing  market  for  the  fine  whiskies  which 
are  made  in  the  State,  the  value  of  which  amounts  to  many  millions  of  dollars  annu- 
ally. It  has  also  very  thriving  industries  in  pork-packing,  the  manufacture  of  iron, 
leather,  furniture,  beer,  cement,  agricultural  implements,  etc.,  and  since  the  removal  of 
the  incubus  of  slavery  it  has  grown  in  population,  thrift,  and  wealth,  in  an  astonish- 
ing degree. 

From  Louisville  to  Cairo  the  Ohio  flows  through  a  fine,  open  country,  much  the 
same  on  both  sides  of  the  river.  Noble  farms  and  evidences  of  great  prosperity  greet 
the  eye  at  every  turn,  and  there  is  little  to  narrate  of  its  rich  and  thriving  sameness. 
At  Cairo,  Illinois,  the  Ohio  Kiver  pours  its  waters,  having  skirted  the  southern  por- 
tion of  this  State  for  not  less  than  fifty  miles,  into  those  of  the  mighty  Mississippi. 

At  this  place  we  are  at  the  southernmost  point  of  Illinois,  a  low,  uninviting 
city  at  the  confluence  of  two  great  streams.  The  city  was  founded  with  the  notion 
that  it  would  be  a  great  commercial  center,  and  large  sums  of  money  were  spent  in 
improvements,  mainly  in  the  construction  of  levees  to  protect  it  from  inundation. 
But  these  anticipations  have  largely  failed,  and  Cairo  has  about  as  small  a  share  of 
prosperity  as  could  possibly  fall  to  the  terminus  of  a  great  railway,  and  the  point  of 
union  of  two  of  our  most  extensive  highways  of  inland  navigation.  At  a  time  when 
the  Mississippi  is  very  high,  one  standing  on  a  Cairo  house-top  would  see  a  very 
striking  sight,  and  he  might  easily  fancy  he  was  looking  out  over  a  great  lake  ex- 
tending as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach. 

From  Cairo  to  the  confluence  of  the  Missouri,  the  Mississippi  river  has  many  of  the 
characteristics  of  the  former  stream.  It  is  treacherous,  swift,  and  turbid.  Its  capri- 
cious and  tyrannical  course  is  even  more  marked  than  below  Cairo.  It  is  for  ever 
making  land  on  one  side  and  tearing  it  away  on  the  other.  The  farmer  on  the  alluvial 
bottom  sees  with  dismay  his  corn-fields  diminish,  year  by  year  acres  eaten  up  and 
carried  away  by  the  dark  and  implacable  current.  The  pilots  complain  bitterly  of 
the  constant  changes  in  the  channel,  which  are  often  difficult  to  detect. 

What  is  known  as  the  upper  Mississippi  properly  begins  or  rather  ends  a  few 
miles  above  St.  Louis.  Why  the  Missouri  and  the  Mississippi  Rivers  should  have 
two  appellations  it  is  difficult  to  understand.  It  is  the  Missouri  which  furnishes  the 
great  volume  of  the  river,  and  the  upper  Mississippi  which  should  rather  be  regarded 
as  the  branch — the  mere  confluent.  The  grand  Missouri  River,  which  is  merged  in 
the  ''Father  of  Waters"  twenty  miles  above  St.  Louis,  rises  near  the  boundary  of 
Montana  and  Idaho,  among  the  Rocky  Mountains,  and  flows  twenty-nine  hundred 
and  eighty-eight  miles  before  it  meets  the  upper  Mississippi.  It  is  navigated  as  far 
as  the  mouth  of  the  Yellowstone  River,  on  the  border  of  Dakota  and  Montana,  but  it 
may  be  ascended  by  very  light-draught  boats  as  high  as  the  Great  Falls,  almost  at  the 
very  base  of  the  mountains.  The  Missouri  receives  all  the  great  rivers  which  rise  on 
the  eastern  declivity  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  with  the  one  exception  of  the  Arkan- 
sas. The  area  which  it  drains  is  estimated  at  five  hundred  and  eighteen  thousand 
square  miles. 


THE   OHIO  AND    UPPER   MISSISSIPPI. 


529 


But  if  the  Missouri  contributes  a  far  greater  volume  of  water,  and  is  geographic- 
ally a  more  important  stream  than  the  upper  Mississippi,  the  latter  has  claims  on  the 
lover  of  beauty  which  are  not  surpassed  by  those  of  any  river  in  the  known  world.  It 
shares  with  the  Hudson  the  supposititious  credit  of  being  an  American  Khine,  though 
those  who  have  seen  all  these  celebrated  streams  assert  that  the  German  river  can  not 
compare  with  either  of  its  American  rivals  in  natural  beauty  and  picturesqueness. 


The  Upper  Muxusippi,  near  St.  Louie. 

While  De  Soto  was  the  first  to  discover  the  lower  Mississippi,  the  first  white  men 
to  reach  the  northern  part  of  the  river  were  the  adventurous  Frenchmen  P6re  Mar- 
qnette  and  the  trader  Joliet,  in  1673.  No  settlement,  however,  was  made  on  the  site 
of  St.  Louis  till  a  period  not  far  preceding  the  Kevolutionary  War.  In  1762  a  grant 
was  made  by  the  French  Governor-General  of  Louisiana  to  Pierre  LaclMe  and  his 
partners,  comprising  the  French  Fur  Company,  to  establish  trading-posts  on  the  Mis- 
sissippi, and  two  years  later  the  principal  post  was  established  at  the  junction  of  the 
Missouri  and  upper  Mississippi,  and  christened  St.  Louis.  In  1803  Louisiana  was 
ceded  to  the  United  States,  and  in  1812  all  that  portion  lying  north  of  the  thirty- 

34 


530  OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 

third  degree  of  latitude  was  organized  as  Missouri  Territory.  The  city  of  St.  Louis 
was  not  incorporated  till  1822.  Like  New  Orleans,  though  in  less  degree,  St.  Louis 
bears  very  distinct  memories  of  its  French  ancestry  and  foundation  in  the  character 
of  its  people  ;  and  its  creole  element,  among  which  there  is  much  hereditary  wealth, 
plumes  itself  on  its  genealogy  with  haughty  exclusiveness.  The  city  is  perched  high 
above  the  level  of  the  river,  on  the  west  bank,  and  is  built  on  three  terraces,  the 
first  gently  sloping  back  for  a  mile  to  a  distance  of  about  one  hundred  and  fifty 
feet  above  the  stream.  Back  of  the  third  terrace  the  surface  spreads  out  in  a  broad 
and  beautiful  plain.  The  corporate  limits  of  the  city  extend  eleven  miles  along  the 
river  and  about  three  miles  back  from  it,  making  an  area  of  twenty-one  square 
miles.  The  growth  of  St.  Louis  has  been  steady  and  remarkable,  yielding  in  this 
respect  only  to  Chicago  among  American  cities.  The  first  census,  taken  in  1764,  gave 
120 ;  in  1811  it  only  reached  1,400 ;  in  1850  it  amounted  to  74,439  ;  in  1860,  to 
160,733  ;  in  1870,  to  310,864 ;  and  in  1880,  to  350,518.  So  St.  Louis  is  to-day 
the  sixth  of  the  United  States  in  population.  The  older  streets  of  this  city  are 
narrow,  but  the  new  avenues  are  wide  and  handsome,  and  lined  with  splendid  resi- 
dences. The  public  buildings  are  imposing,  the  warehouses  spacious,  and  the  public 
parks  very  attractive,  though  small.  Among  the  notable  places  are  Shaw's  Garden, 
with  its  extensive  botanical  garden  and  conservatory,  and  the  Fair-Grounds,  the  latter 
being  made  the  object  of  special  care  and  cultivation,  and  measurably  supplying  the 
lack  of  a  large  public  park. 

As  the  natural  commercial  entrepot  of  the  Mississippi  Valley  the  commerce  of 
St.  Louis  is  very  large,  the  chief  articles  of  receipt  and  shipment  being  breadstuffs, 
live-stock,  provisions,  cotton,  lead  (from  the  Missouri  mines),  hay,  salt,  wool,  hides 
and  pelts,  lumber,  tobacco,  and  groceries.  St.  Louis  is  the  first  city  of  the  Union 
in  the  manufacture  of  flour.  Vast  as  are  its  commercial  interests,  however,  the  pros- 
perity of  the  city  is  chiefly  due  to  its  manufactures,  in  which  it  is  surpassed  by 
a  few  cities  only.  St.  Louis  increased  the  value  of  her  manufactured  products  from 
twenty-seven  million  dollars,  in  1860,  to  more  than  one  hundred  million  dollars 
in  1870  ;  and  in  1874,  again,  the  latter  amount  was  more  than  doubled.  The 
complete  census  returns  of  1880  will  probably  show  an  equally  significant  advance 
since.  St.  Louis  promises  to  be  a  most  dangerous  rival  to  Pittsburg  in  steel  and 
iron  manufactures.  Enough  good  iron  can  be  produced  from  Missouri  ores  and 
Illinois  coal  to  supply  the  wants  of  the  whole  United  States  ;  and  it  is  claimed 
by  the  people  of  St.  Louis  that  pig-iron  can  be  produced  for  less  money  in  Missouri 
furnaces  than  in  any  other  part  of  the  country.  This  fact,  of  course,  gives  the  St. 
Louis  iron  and  steel  manufactures  a  great  advantage. 

A  principal  object  of  interest  for  the  stranger  is  the  great  St.  Louis  Bridge  across 
the  Mississippi  Eiver,  which  may  be  justly  regarded  as  one  of  the  notable  triumphs  of 
American  engineering.  It  was  designed  by  Captain  James  B.  Eads,  having  been 
begun  in  1869  and  completed  in  1874.  It  consists  of  three  spans,  resting  on  four 
piers.  The  piprs  are  composed  of  granite  and  limestone,  and  rest  on  the  bed-rock 


THE   OHIO  AND    UPPER  MISSISSIPPI. 


531 


of  the  river,  to  which  they  were  sunk  through  the  sand  from  ninety  to  one  hundred 
and  twenty  feet  by  the  use  of  wrought-iron  caissons  and  atmospheric  pressure.  The 
center  span  is  live  hundred  and  twenty  feet,  and  the  side  ones  are  each  five  hundred 
feet  in  the  clear ;  each  of  them  is  formed  of  four  ribbed  arches,  made  of  cast-steel. 
The  rise  of  the  arches  is  sixty  feet,  sufficiently  high  to  permit  the  passage  of  steam- 
boats at  all  stages  of  the  water.  The  bridge  is  built  in  two  stories ;  the  lower  one 
containing  a  double  car-track,  and  the  upper  one  two  carriage-ways,  two  horse-car 
tracks,  and  two  foot-ways.  It  passes  over  a  viaduct  of  five  arches  (twenty-seven  feet 
span  each)  into  Washington  Avenue,  where  the  lower  roadway  runs  into  a  tunnel 
four  thousand  eight  hundred  feet  long,  which  passes  under  a  large  part  of  the  city, 
terminating  near  Eleventh  Street.  The  total  cost  of  the  bridge  and  tunnel  was  over 
ten  million  dollars.  It  is  estimated  that  the  annual  saving  to  St.  Louis  by  the  facili- 


tit.  Lmti». 

ties  for  transportation  accorded  by  the  bridge  will  amount  to  a  million  dollars. 
Before  the  bridge  was  built,  the  levee  on  either  side  of  the  river  was  a  kind  of  pan- 
demonium. An  unending  procession  of  carts  and  wagons  was  always  forcing  its  way 
from  the  ferry-boats  up  the  bank  to  the  streets  of  St.  Louis,  the  tatterdemalion  drivers 
for  ever  swearing  at  the  kicking  and  restive  mules.  These  wagons  on  busy  days  were 
surrounded  by  hordes  of  incoming  Texas  cattle,  which,  wildly  tossing  their  horns,  ob- 
jected to  entering  the  gangways  of  the  ferry,  and  often  tossed  their  tormentors  in  the 
air ;  and  troops  of  mud-bespattered  swine,  numbers  of  which,  constantly  escaping, 
would  be  pursued  by  the  enraged  horsemen  employed  to  herd  them,  for  block  after 
block.  Added  to  this  indescribable  tumult  were  the  lumbering  wagon-trains  of  iron 
and  copper,  making  their  way  to  the  boat ;  throngs  of  black  loungers  singing  rude 
plantation  songs  ;  the  nameless  tide  of  immigration  scattered  about  through  all  the 


532  OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 

adjoining  saloons  and  bar-rooms  ;  and  the  gangs  of  roustabouts  rolling  boxes,  barrels, 
hogsheads,  and  bales,  from  morning  to  night. 

On  the  East  St.  Louis  side  of  the  river  the  crowd  awaiting  transportation  was 
always  of  the  most  motley  sort.  Here  might  be  seen  the  (juaintly  attired  German  immi- 
grant and  his  family  ;  the  stalwart  and  bearded  Texan  drover,  frowning  contempt  at  the 
sprucely  dressed  people  who,  mayhap,  were  having  a  sly  laugh  at  him  ;  poor  whites 
from  the  far  South,  rifle  in  hand,  looking  open-mouthed  with  amazement  at  the  ex- 
tent of  brick  and  stone  walls  beyond  the  river ;  excursion  parties  and  tourists  stand- 
ing amid  piles  of  luggage,  baskets,  hampers,  etc.  ;  United  States  troops  on  the  march 
for  some  remote  frontier  post ;  smartly  dressed  commercial  travelers  from  Northern 
and  Western  cities,  vigorously  smoking  their  cigars  to  kill  the  complex  odors  of  a 
miscellaneous  crowd  ;  and  the  hundreds  of  negroes  who  enter  into  every  wharf-scene 
of  a  Southern  city — all  furnishing  amusing  study  for  the  curious  spectator.  East  St. 
Louis  is  a  famous  place  in  one  particular.  Its  alluvial  acres,  which  the  capricious 
river  so  often  overflowed,  furnished,  in  the  language  of  Sir  Lucius  O'Trigger,  "as 
pretty  a  piece  of  turf  as  any  gentleman  could  wish  for."  Here  was  fought  in  the 
olden  times  many  a  sanguinary  duel,  and  its  sobriquet  was  once  "  Blood}-  Island." 
These  associations  are  now  of  the  past,  and  East  St.  Louis  is  a  prosperous  town,  witli 
a  long  stretch  of  busy  wharves  and  huge  grain-elevators. 

The  scene  at  the  St.  Louis  levee  is  very  interesting  to  the  stranger.  Here  one  gets 
a  good  idea  of  the  extent  and  vivacity  of  the  river-trade,  when  he  sees  something  of 
the  multitude  of  boats,  barges,  and  rafts  which  the  Father  of  Waters  carries  on  his 
ample  breast.  Every  conceivable  variety  of  river-boat  grates  its  keel  against  the  St. 
Louis  levee — the  floating  palace,  the  strong  flat-bottomed  Red  River  packet,  the  cruisers 
of  the  upper  Mississippi  and  of  the  turbid  Missouri,  the  barges  in  long  procession 
laden  with  iron,  coal,  lead,  and  copper  ;  and  the  huge  cars  of  the  Transportation  Com- 
pany, each  one  capable  of  receiving  a  hundred  thousand  bushels  of  grain  ;  while  rafts 
of  every  size  and  shape  are  scattered  about  like  chips  over  the  giant  stream.  Nearly 
three  thousand  steamboat  arrivals  are  annually  registered  at  the  port  of  St.  Louis. 

The  journey  up  the  Mississippi  from  St.  Louis  is  delightfully  made  in  one  of  the 
capacious  steamboats  plying  between  that  city  and  St.  Paul.  We  find  the  scenery  im- 
mediately above  St.  Louis  by  no  means  picturesque,  though  it  is  serene  and  pleasing, 
full  of  suggestion  of  pastoral  charm.  One  thing  the  eye  instantly  observes  is  the 
difference  of  the  color  of.  the  water,  its  brilliant  deep  blue,  as  compared  with  the 
ochre-colored  fluid  below  the  entrance  of  the  Missouri.  About  twenty  miles  above  St. 
Louis,  and  three  miles  from  the  junction  of  the  Missouri,  on  the  Illinois  shore,  is  the 
city  of  Alton,  perched  on  a  limestone  bluff  two  hundred  feet  high.  It  is  said  that 
this  rock  was  once  covered  with  Indian  paintings  and  inscriptions,  but  the  effect  of 
time  and  weather  has  been  to  efface  them.  The  islands  which  begin  to  thickly  dot 
the  river  have  a  look  of  greater  age,  and  are  covered  with  a  profuse  vegetation  and 
fine  trees  instead  of  being  mere  mud-banks,  which  are  made  and  unmade  every  year. 
The  bluffs  become  more  numerous  as  we  proceed  up  the  river,  until  Keokuk,  Iowa, 


THE   OHIO  AND    UPPER  MISSISSIPPI.  533 

is  reached,  where  the  steep  bank  has  the  appearance  of  a  range  of  hills  with  ravines 
between.  The  river  has  now  passed  beyond  the  Missouri  State  line,  and  skirts  Illinois 
and  Iowa.  But  a  few  woi'ds  about  a  State. of  almost  unmatched  natural  resources  will 
be  appropriate  before  sailing  away  to  the  more  northerly  Mississippi  region. 

The  climate  of  Missouri  is  mild  and  invigorating,  the  face  of  the  country  for  the 
most  part  high  and  undulating,  and  in  places  rugged  and  mountainous.  Along  the 
banks  of  both  the  Mississippi  and  the  Missouri  there  are  rich  alluvial  lands,  which 
pass  as  one  leaves  the  river  valleys  into  rolling  prairie  of  the  richest  soil  for  agricult- 
ural uses.  All  kinds  of  fruits  and  grains  flourish  luxuriantly  on  the  farm-lands  of 
this  State,  and  invite  the  immigrant  by  a  promise  of  lavish  return.  Between  the  two 
great  river  valleys,  the  country  is  diversified  by  the  valleys  of  the  subsidiary  rivers 
and  intervening  tracts  of  beautiful  uplands,  united  with  the  valleys  by  gentle  slopes. 
Thick  woods  occur  for  the  most  part  on  the  water-courses  with  which  the  State  is 
profusely  supplied.  The  prairie-lands  occupy  about  nine  tenths  of  the  lands  of  the 
whole  State.  Inviting  as  Missouri  is  in  its  admirable  diversity  of  woodland  and 
prairie  for  the  purpose  of  agriculture,  it  is  in  her  mineral  deposits  that  her  charac- 
teristic superiority  rests.  The  iron,  copper,  lead,  and  coal  beds  of  the  State  are  prac- 
tically inexhaustible,  and  out  of  them  has  already  sprung  a  great  industry,  which  is 
destined  to  be  quadrupled  in  yield  and  value  before  many  years  have  passed.  The 
main  iron-region  of  Missouri  is  situated  in  the  southeastern  and  southern  portion  of 
the  State,  and  the  most  of  it  is  tributary  to  St.  Louis.  The  most  remarkable  part 
of  this  mineral  region  is  Iron  Mountain,  which  is  situated  eighty-one  miles  south- 
west of  St.  Louis,  and  connected  with  it  by  rail.  The  mountain  is  only  two  hundred 
feet  high,  but  the  wonder  is  that  it  is  a  solid  mass  of  the  finest  iron-ore,  which 
runs  far  down  into  the  bowels  of  the  earth.  The  whole  region  around  is  rich  in 
mineral.  A  few  miles  below  Iron  Mountain  rises  Pilot  Knob,  which  is  quite  a  stately 
peak,  towering  far  above  its  brethren  of  the  Ozark  range.  It  is  claimed  that  the 
county  in  which  Iron  Mountain  and  Pilot  Knob  lie  contains  more  iron  than  any 
other  area  of  equal  extent  in  the  known  world.  The  stores  of  coal  match  those  of 
iron.  It  was  long  ago  estimated  that  the  State  had  an  area  of  twenty-six  thousand 
miles  of  coal-beds  between  the  mouth  of  the  Des  Moines  River  and  the  Indian  Terri- 
tory, and  very  extensive  coal-fields  have  been  lately  discovered.  In  lead,  Missouri  can 
also  boast  a  magnificent  richness  of  resources.  In  1872  the  production  was  twenty 
million  pounds,  and  since  that  time  the  production  has  been  nearly  doubled.  The 
area  of  the  lead  -  region  comprises  nearly  seven  thousand  square  miles.  Besides  the 
extensive  copper-mines  there  have  been  made  also,  recently,  large  discoveries  of  zinc, 
cobalt,  nickel,  tin,  manganese,  and  marble.  In  the  subterranean  treasure-house  of 
Missouri  the  precious  minerals  do  not  seem  to  abound,  but  their  absence  is  more 
than  compensated  by  the  wonderful  richness  of  the  ilseful  metals. 

Leaving  this  cursory  survey  of  the  mineral  resources  of  Missouri,  let  us  proceed  on 
our  way  up  the  river  again  from  Keokuk,  which  is  just  over  the  Iowa  line.  Oppo- 
site Keokuk  in  Illinois  is  the  city  of  Warsaw,  and  close  to  Warsaw  the  Des  Moines 


534  OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 

River  falls  into  the  Mississippi,  causing  what  are  known  as  the  Des  Moines  Rapids. 
These  sometimes  cause  hindrance  to  freighting-vessels,  but  the  packet-steamers  pass 
through  without  difficulty.  Mississippi  scenery  at  this  point  begins  to  give  promise 
of  the  charm  for  which  the  upper  river  is  famous.  The  water  is  deep  blue,  and 
glides  along  with  a  placid,  lazy  flow,  in  marked  contrast  to  the  swift  rush  of  the 
lower  river.  Acres  of  lily-pads  begem  the  surface  with  their  green  leaves  and  rich 
blossoms.  Groups  of  islets,  fringed  with  rushes  and  clad  with  tree  and  grass,  diver- 
sify the  stream  which  winds  in  and  out  between  with  a  languid  ripple,  as  if  reluctant 
to  leave  these  fairy  resting-places.  The  bluffs  are  striking,  sometimes  majestic  in 
their  shape  and  elevation,  and  in  early  morning  and  late  afternoon  cast  long  shadows 
far  out  over  the  serene  waters.  About  seventy  miles  above  Keokuk  the  Iowa  River 
joins  the  main  stream,  and  fifty  miles  farther  north  again  we  reach  Rock  Island,  the 
largest  of  the  Mississippi  islands.  It  is  three  miles  long,  and  has  an  area  of  about  a 
thousand  acres,  a  portion  of  it  being  covered  with  fine  forest-trees.  On  this  island 
are  government  fortifications  and  arsenals  of  a  formidable  character.  The  old  arsenal, 
which  still  remains,  was  the  headquarters  of  General  Scott  during  the  Black  Hawk 
war.  The  new  buildings  are  of  an  enduring  and  substantial  character,  and  the 
whole  island  has  been  laid  out  with  so  much  skill  and  taste  that  it  almost  rivals 
West  Point  as  a  charming  military  station.  On  the  east  or  Illinois  bank  is  the  city 
of  Rock  Island,  on  the  west  or  Iowa  side  is  Davenport,  both  beautiful  little  cities. 
They  are  connected  with  the  island  by  means  of  bridges,  through  which  steamers  pass 
by  means  of  draws.  The  rapids  in  the  river  here  are  quite  dangerous,  and  the  bridge 
is  an  additional  obstacle  to  navigation,  which  causes  much  complaint  on  the  part 
of  the  steamboat-men.  There  was  a  time  when  gangs  of  desperadoes  were  hired  to 
burn  the  bridges  as  fast  as  they  were  renewed,  and  they  then  had  to  be  guarded 
by  United  States  soldiers.  It  is  probable  that  ere  long  the  railroad  companies  will 
co-operate  with  the  two  cities  in  building  a  great  bridge,  with  cast-steel  spans  not  less 
than  five  hundred  feet  long. 

The  shores  of  the  river  for  many  miles  above  and  below  Rock  Island  present  the 
same  characteristics  on  both  sides  of  the  stream.  The  whole  surface  of  Iowa  is  roll- 
ing and  undulating,  rising  here  and  there  into  hills  of  considerable  height.  Illinois, 
on  the  other  hand,  is  only  broken  and  undulating  on  the  Mississippi,  extending  per- 
haps fifty  miles  back  from  the  river,  and  near  its  Wisconsin  border.  The  middle 
and  southern  portions  of  the  State  are  flat  prairie,  presenting  to  the  eye  a  great  sea 
of  waving  verdure  from  the  first  of  May  to  the  first  of  November.  These  rich  lands 
are  the  garden  of  the  West,  but  they  offer  a  very  monotonous  aspect.  Yet  they 
are  not  without  a  striking  sublimity  of  their  own,  for  the  ocean  its°elf  does  not 
convey  a  more  vivid  notion  of  boundless  space.  This  will  not  long,  however,  satisfy 
the  mind,  for  change  and  diversity  are  essential  to  that  cheerfulness  of  impression 
which  is  the  most  important  element  in  natural  beauty.  This  suggestion  is  perfectly 
reached  in  the  scenery  of  the  Mississippi  River,  and  the  glimpses  we  get  of  the  outly- 
ing country  on  both  banks. 


THE   OHIO  AND    UPPER  MISSISSIPPI. 


535 


Above  the  Kock  Island  rapids  the  bluffs  become  less  hilly  and  more  like  Cyclo- 
pean walls.  The  enormous  masses  of  stone,  stratified  like  masonry,  impress  the  fancy 
of  the  river  voyager,  and  one  is  forced  to  think  that  time  was  when  the  level  of  the 


river  was  the  same  as  that  of  the  bluffs,  but  that  as  they  were  gradually  upheaved 
the  stream  cut  its  way  down,  as  if  a  tremendous  saw.  The  Mississippi  now  for  a 
long  distance  averages  a  width  of  about  two  miles,  and  this  expanse  is  studded  with 
islands  infinitely  varied  in  form  and  effect  of  beauty.  On  a  fine  summer's  day  tho 


536  OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 

clear,  glassy  surface  reflects  in  its  cool  shadows  every  indentation  on  the  fiice  of  the 
bluffs,  every  streak  of  color,  every  tuft  of  grass  that  grows  in  a  crevice,  every  bush 
on  the  slope  of  the  base,  every  tree  on  the  summit.  Beautiful  effects  of  color  and 
of  light  and  shadow  continually  delight  the  eye. 

Just  below  Dubuque,  which  is  three  hundred  and  sixty  miles  above  St.  Louis,  the 
bluffs  begin  to  be  castellated  and  to  assume  very  striking  and  suggestive  shapes,  out 
of  which  the  fancy  easily  makes  quaint  likenesses.  At  Dubuque  the  bluffs  are  nearly 
three  hundred  feet  high,  but  they  do  not  fall  sheer  to  the  water's  edge.  At  the  base 
there  is  a  broad  level  about  sixteen  feet  above  the  river,  and  on  this  plateau  are  built 
all  the  business-houses,  hotels,  factories,  etc.  Above,  connected  with  paths  that  have 
been  cut  through  the  solid  limestone,  are  the  streets  of  the  dwelling-houses.  The 
approaches  to  these  upper  houses  are  mostly  by  stairs  so  steep  that  they  might  almost 
be  called  ladders,  a  method  of  street  transit  almost  unexampled  among  American 
cities.  But  when  one  has  climbed  these  steps  a  most  delightful  view  is  opened  to  the 
eye.  At  the  feet  of  the  spectator  is  the  quaint  city  with  its  absolute  confusion  of 
lines,  its  walls  with  modern  stairways  or  steps  hewed  in  the  rock,  its  queer  muddle  of 
houses  and  bluffs  reminding  one  of  an  old  Italian  city  built  on  the  vine  and  orange 
clad  terraces  of  a  mountain-slope  ;  far  away  over  the  broad  and  shining  river  rise  the 
bluffs  of  the  eastern  shore,  with  their  sharp  contrasts  of  green  verdure  and  glaring 
white,  and  beyond  the  hazy  expanse  of  the  prairie  melting  in  the  distance  into  the 
sky,  which,  blue  above,  becomes  paler  and  paler  till  it  becomes  an  absolute  gray.  Du- 
buque, which  is  the  principal  city  of  Iowa,  is  also  the  oldest,  the  original  settlement 
having  been  made  by  John  Dubuque,  a  French-Canadian  trader,  in  1788.  Its  per- 
manent growth,  however,  did  not  begin  till  1833,  when  the  Indian  title  to  the  lands 
was  extinguished,  and  four  years  later  it  was  incorporated  as  a  city.  On  the  lower 
plateau  are  a  number  of  fine  buildings  public  and  private,  while  the  charming  and 
picturesque  residences  on  the  heights  above  are  such  as  would  make  them  instantly 
noticeable,  alike  from  their  beauty  of  situation  and  the  costliness  and  good  taste  of 
the  structures.  This  city  is  the  commercial  center  not  only  for  an  extensive  grain 
and  lumber  region,  but  for  the  great  lead-region  of  Iowa,  Northwestern  Illinois,  and 
Southwestern  Wisconsin,  many  valuable  mines  being  within  the  city  limits.  Two 
important  railways  converge  here — the  Illinois  Central  and  the  Chicago,  Dubuque, 
&  Minnesota — and  another  road  is  now  building  which  will  largely  add  to  the  im- 
portance of  Dubuque. 

A  short  way  above  Dubuque  is  Eagle  Bluff,  a  landmark  for  the  river-pilots,  rising 
five  hundred  feet  high.  Here  the  slope  of  the  bluff  so  blends  with  the  perpendicular 
rise  that  it  seems  like  an  enormous  wall  descending  from  the  forest  above  to  the 
water  beneath.  Sometimes  the  cliffs  on  this  part  of  the  river  have  been  so  changed 
by  vthe  action  of  water  as  to  present  those  great  sloping  banks  called  downs  in  Eng- 
land, where  a  disintegration  of  the  surface  forms  a  thin  soil  on  which  a  rich  vegeta- 
tion springs  up,  clothing  them  in  green  from  top  to  bottom.  When  the  landscape  is 
tamed  down  by  a  thin,  silvery  mist,  and  a  portion  of  the  river  is  shut  off  from  view, 


THE   OHIO  AND    UPPER   MISSISSIPPI.  537 

fancy  cheats  the  eye  into  the  belief  that  the  gleaming  sheet  of  water  is  the  begin- 
ning of  a  romantic  lake  among  the  hills.  At  times  the  upper  Mississippi  is  noticeable 
for  this  lake-like  appearance,  owing  to  the  comparative  freedom  of  the  stream  from 
islands,  while  in  other  places  beautiful  green  expanses  diversify  the  surface  of  the 
water  in  great  profusion. 

Since  leaving  Dubuque  the  voyager  has  had  the  beautiful  State  of  Wisconsin  on 
his  right,  Iowa  still  being  on  the  west  bank  of  the  river.  The  former  state  is  un- 
surpassed for  the  gentle  picturesqueness  and  charm  of  its  scenery,  and  when  better 
known  it  can  not  fail  to  be  a  favorite  goal  for  tourists  and  travelers.  The  surface  of 
the  State  is  a  high  and  rolling  plain,  at  times  hilly  but  never  becoming  mountainous. 
Wisconsin  has  on  its  west  the  Mississippi  River  and  Minnesota ;  on  its  north,  Lake 
Superior  and  the  northern  peninsula  of  Michigan  ;  on  its  east,  Lake  Michigan  ;  on 
the  south,  Illinois.  So  it  will  be  seen  that  most  of  the  boundary  of  Wisconsin  is  a 
water-line.  The  highest  lands  are  those  along  the  sources  of  the  tributaries  of  Lake 
Superior,  rising  here  to  a  height  of  eighteen  hundred  feet  above  the  sea  -  level. 
From  all  the  highlands  there  are  slopes  by  which  the  water  is  drained  off  in  rivers 
and  lakes,  with  which  important  features  of  natural  beauty  the  State  is  richly  en- 
dowed. In  addition  to  a  number  of  important  rivers,  innumerable  small  streams 
water  the  surface,  the  waters,  originating  in  springs  and  lakelets,  being  translucently 
clear.  Many  of  the  rivers,  large  and  small,  have  very  picturesque  cascades  and  rapids, 
or  run  through  narrow  rocky  gorges  called  "  dalles."  Almost  all  the  Wisconsin 
streams  offer  splendid  water-power,  which  is  extensively  utilized  for  manufacturing. 
But  it  is  in  her  lakes  that  the  picturesque  characteristic  of  Wisconsin  most  impressively 
exists.  These  are  very  numerous  in  the  central  and  northern  portions  of  the  State, 
and  are  from  one  to  fifty  square  miles  in  extent,  usually  with  high,  cliff-like  banks, 
and  very  deep  water,  swarming  with  the  best  game-fish.  There  are  parts  of  Wiscon- 
sin so  studded  with  lakes  that  it  would  be  difficult  to  travel  five  miles  in  any  direc- 
tion without  finding  one.  A  kind  of  wild-rice  grows  in  the  shallower  portions  of 
these  lakes,  affording  subsistence  to  innumerable  water-fowl.  Several  very  charming 
watering-places  have  sprung  up  among  the  Wisconsin  lakes,  which  are  much  fre- 
quented by  Western  and  Southern  people.  The  rivers  which  pour  into  the  Mississippi 
River  present  bolder  scenery,  though  not  more  picturesque,  than  the  lake  -  region ; 
among  these  the  Wisconsin  and  St.  Louis  are  specially  noticeable.  The  mouth  of 
the  Wisconsin  River  is  broad,  but  the  water  is  shallow  and  the  channel  obstructed 
by  sand-bars  clad  with  rank  vegetation.  The  sloping  bluffs  are  covered  with  trees 
and  other  vegetation  to  their  very  summit.  All  along  the  line  of  the  Mississippi  here, 
and  up  the  interior  rivers,  are  wheat-growing  lands  of  the  greatest  richness.  Wiscon- 
sin is  one  of  the  important  wheat-growing  States,  and  the  cereal  crops  are  distrib- 
uted to  market  in  two  directions:  the  northern  and  eastern  parts  of  the  State  find 
their  outlet  in  Milwaukee  and  Chicago  by  rail  or  lake-propeller  ;  the  product  of  West- 
ern Wisconsin  selects  the  broad  expanse  of  the  Mississippi  as  its  avenue,  and  is  car- 
ried by  barge  from  the  different  towns  on  the  river  to  Dubuque  and  St.  Louis. 


538 


OUR    NATIVE  LAND. 


Near  the  mouth  of  the 
Wisconsin  River  is  the  city 
of  Prairie  du  Chien,  a  thriv- 
ing place,  but  not  specially 
interesting  ;  nor,  in  fact,  is 
there  any  town  of  noticeable 
character  till  we  reach  La 
Crosse.  But  the  river  be- 
comes more  and  more  beau- 
tiful as  we  proceed  north- 
ward, and  the  lover  of  nat- 
ure does  not  regret  the  ab- 
sence of  large  towns.  The 
bluffs  of  the  river  now  alter- 
nate from  a  yellowish-white 
when  they  are  exposed  to 
the  full  force  of  the  sum- 
mer sun,  to  a  gracious  green 
when  in  spots  sheltered  from 
exposure ;  shrubs  and  trees, 
and  grass  or  moss,  have 
planted  themselves,  or  fes- 
toons of  vines  curl  around 
the  fantastic  spires  and  jut- 
ting cornices  of  limestone. 
The  variety  of  scenery,  the 
wooded  hills,  and  the  lim- 
pid purity  of  the  water,  as 
clear  as  that  of  Lake  Le- 
man,  conspire  to  make  this 
part  of  the  river  difficult  to 
rival.  The  bluffs  alternate 
from  massive  wooded  heights 
to  long  walls  of  limestone, 
with  bases,  and  cornices,  and 
bartizan  towers,  deep  crypts, 
and  isolated  chimneys.  -Oft- 
en from  the  green  heart  of  a 
forest,  a  limestone  pinnacle 
cleaves  the  air  like  a  colossal 
alabaster  needle;  and  then, 
again,  there  will  be  a  series 


THE   OHIO  AND    UPPER   MISSISSIPPI.  539 

of  towers  or  donjon-keeps  with  festoons  of  vines  hanging  over  them  like  banner- 
drapery.  As  we  pass  up  the  river  with  its  constantly  changing  scenery,  that  delights 
the  mind  with  always  fresh  surprises  of  form,  tint,  and  perspective,  we  see  grand 
forests  coming  right  down  to  the  brink  of  the  stream  through  openings  in  the  bluffs, 
and  we  expect  every  moment  to  behold  the  antlered  head  of  a  noble  buck. 

The  city  of  La  Crosse  is  at  the  junction  of  a  little  stream,  built  on  a  prairie 
which  breaks  the  usual  bluff-like  formation  of  the  river-banks.  Here  the  Indian 
tribes,  for  hundreds  of  miles  around,  were  wont  to  have  their  annual  ball-playing, 
that  game  which  the  French  called  La  Crosse,  and  which  has  given  its  name  to  the 
bustling  Wisconsin  city.  The  opposite  side  of  the  river  is  Minnesota,  a  State  also 
great  in  its  product  of  grain  and  lumber. 

La  Crosse  is  a  station  on  the  Milwaukee  &  St.  Paul  and  Chicago  &  Northwestern 
Railways,  as  well  as  on  three  other  minor  routes ;  and  many  a  tourist  makes  the 
tour  of  the  upper  Mississippi  by  steamboat  from  this  point,  for  it  is  above  La  Crosse 
that  the  beauty  of  the  river  displays  its  most  striking  attractions.  The  boat  arrives 
at  this  point  at  midnight,  and  during  the  summer  season  a  great  crowd  is  ordinarily 
brought  in  by  the  railway  -  trains  to  make  close  connection  with  the  river  -  travel. 
The  scene  of  transfer  on  the  river,  and  the  swinging  off  of  the  boat  into  the  stream, 
constitute  a  picturesque  and  vivid  experience. 

"  Only  the  most  placid  amiability,"  says  a  writer  in  "  Appletons'  Journal,"  "  or 
the  most  imperturbable  good-humor,  is  equal  to  this  rousing  at  midnight  when 
traveling,  however  uncomfortable  the  interrupted  sleep.  I  have  had  divers  experi- 
ences of  it ;  have  seen  tired,  sleepy,  fretful,  stolid,  hungry,  cold,  querulous,  impatient 
crowds  making  the  hateful  transit  from  one  conveyance  to  another,  but  never  saw 
better  brigands  or  bacchanals  in  a  picture  than  the  company  now  leaving  the  cars 
for  the  upper  Mississippi  at  La  Crosse.  Great  torches  were  burning  at  each  corner 
of  the  wharf ;  huge  iron  crates,  mounted  high  in  the  air,  filled  with  inflammable  and 
resinous  pitch-pine,  which  in  combustion  sent  out  a  lurid  light.  The  faces  of  the 
bewildered  and  disheveled  passengers,  reddened  by  the  glare  of  those  torches,  might 
have  served  a  Hogarth  in  drawing  or  a  Rubens  in  color.  We  saw  in  the  red  light 
three  tall  white  steamers  lying  at  the  wharf  —  great  passenger  and  freight  craft  of 
the  Mississippi,  very  unlike  steamers  built  for  Eastern  rivers,  and  yet  more  unlike 
those  in  use  on  the  ocean,  so  familiar  to  all  the  world  since  the  Eastern  exodus  has 
come  to  be  so  universal.  They  looked  like  great  floating  arks,  standing  out  against 
that  background  of  impenetrable  darkness,  as  mysterious  and  unfathomable  as  Tar- 
tarean gloom.  Each  steamer  had  at  leeward  two  great  torch-lights,  two  crates  project- 
ing over  the  vessel's  sides  into  the  midnight  blackness.  These  showed  us  the  negroes, 
in  their  scant  costumes,  bearing  huge  burdens  of  luggage  or  freight,  and  illuminated 
the  long  arcades  of  freight-holds  on  the  deck.  (Mississippi  boats,  being  required  to 
have  shallow  draught,  are  all  built  above  water.)  Beyond  this  we  saw  nothing.  The 
black  night  and  the  black,  sluggish  water  rebutted  the  lurid  rays,  and  there  seemed 
no  power  of  refraction  in  the  darkness  beyond.  It  was  only  darkness  made  visible. 


540 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


"  When  we  were  once  on 
board,  we  were  thorough]  v 
'  roused  from  our  sleepiness, 
and  made  oblivious  of  fa- 
tigue by  the  picturesqueness 
of  the  scene.  We  leaned  far 
over  the  railing,  watching  the 
black  stevedores,  alternately 
red  in  the  torch-light  and 
dusky  in  the  shadow,  as  they 
came  and  went  with  their  bur- 
dens. The}T  were  crooning  a 
characteristic  song,  with  an 
elaborate  chorus,  which  caught 
in  its  meshes  the  voice  of 
every  negro  on  the  boats  or 
on  the  shore.  As  the  labor 
lightened,  those  on  our  boat, 
which  was  between  the  oth- 
ers, struck  out  boldly  with 
the  words,  while  from  the 
steamers  on  each  side  of  us 
came  the  refrain.  When  the 
time  for  separation  arrived, 
the  singing  grew  noisier  and 
wilder,  the  chorus  readier  and 
louder,  the  men  no  longer 
bus}'  keeping  time  with  a 
heavy  tramp.  The  boat  go- 
ing down  the  river  was  the 
first  to  depart.  The  distance 
between  us  widened :  the  cho- 
rus-singers, in  their  pictur- 
esque costumes,  passed  along 
beneath  the  gleams  of  our 
torch ;  the  sullen  waves  of 
the  black  river  rolled  a  few 
white  crests,  left  by  her  wake, 
into  the  red  light ;  the  white 
steamer  passed  out  of  sight, 
and  the  voices  of  the  singers 
died  away  in  the  distance. 


THE   OHIO  AND    UPPER   MISSISSIPPI. 


541 


Then,  simultaneously  with  the  other  vessel,  we  left  the  wharf,  parting  company  ;  the 
singers  below  grew  louder  and  noisier,  but  the  refrain  came  back  softer  and  more  and 
more  indistinct.  We  watched  .it  011  its  majestic  course  till  the  stately  vessel  was  out 
of  sight,  till  its  red  lights  and  its  singing  negroes  were  lost  to  eye  and  ear. 


I 
s, 


i 


"  I  have  seen  many  rare  night-scenes  in  traveling,  and  remember  strange  mid- 
nights. There  was  one,  in  a  half-wrecked  ship,  lying  on  its  side  on  Frying-pan 
Shoals,  off  Cape  Fear  :  another,  hemmed  in  by  ice  in  the  Susquehanna.  off  Havre  de 


542  OUR   NATIVE   LAND. 

Grace  ;  a  third,  speeding  on  burning  cars  through  the  woods  of  North  Carolina ;  a 
fourth,  passing  through  flaming  woods  in  Canada,  with  the  story  of  Chicago's  tragedy 
ringing  in  the  ears  ;  but,  amid  these  and  other  vivid  and  startling  recollections,  comes 
this  embarking  from  La  Crosse  on  the  steamer  as  one  of  the  most  weird,  the  most 
memorable  of  all  night-scenes  in  travel.  Going  to  Europe  for  romantic  travel  ad- 
ventures has  not  seemed  a  necessity  in  my  life.  The  one  scene  I  have  tried  to  paint 
would  have  furnished  material  for  poet  or  painter." 

Above  La  Crosse  the  valley  of  the  Mississippi  widens  considerably,  and  the  hills 
recede,  leaving  long  slopes  of  upland  covered  with  fine  old  trees.  The  river  is 
studded  with  low  islands,  made  of  the  alluvial  washings  from  the  banks,  and  mantled 
with  a  dense  covering  of  scrub-oak  and  cotton-woods.  The  bluffs  are  in  many  cases 
six  hundred  feet  in  height,  and  of  varied  shape,  but  more  often  of  the  pyramidal  form. 

The  fairy  region  of  Trempealeau  is  one  of  the  celebrated  portions  of  the  upper 
Mississippi,  and  is  only  eighteen  miles  above  La  Crosse.  This  is  also  sometimes  known 
as  Mountain  Island,  for  its  rocky  height  rises  five  hundred  and  sixty  feet.  The 
French  voyageurs,  whose  nomenclature,  scattered  all  over  our  Northwestern  region,  is 
full  of  poetry,  gave  it  its  musical  and  suggestive  name,  because  it  is  a  inont  qui 
tremp  a  Feau  (mountain  which  dips  into  the  water).  Nothing  can  be  more  beautiful 
than  the  approach  to  this  picturesque  place.  The  river  lies  like  a  lake  in  the 
bosom  of  the  hills,  which  are  of  the  most  varied  beauty.  The  water  sleeps  below 
these  bright-hued  heights,  its  glassy  breast  giving  back  all  the  charm  of  the  environ- 
ing amphitheatre  of  hills.  The  islets  that  nestle  around  the  huge  form  of  Trempea- 
leau are  covered  with  sedge  which  waves  in  the  air  with  the  least  puff  of  wind.  The 
mountain  is  covered  in  many  places  with  dense  forests ;  and  then  there  are  extended 
spaces  of  barren  rock,  sometimes  covered  with  minute  lichen  which  gives  the  warm 
effect  of  red  sandstone,  sometimes  dazzling  white  like  marble.  This  mountain-island  is 
one  of  the  gems  of  the  Mississippi,  and  furnishes  a  worthy  study  for  the  painter 
and  poet,  as  well  as  for  the  man  of  science  ;  and  the  effect  is  equally  beautiful,  whether 
seen  from  the  river  below,  from  the  clustering  islets  at  the  foot  of  the  island,  or  from 
the  village  of  Trempealeau  five  miles  above.  Twenty-five  miles  above  Trempealeau  is 
another  noted  spot  called  Chimney  Rock,  which  is  near  Fountain  City.  This  peculiar 
mass  of  limestone  on  the  right  of  the  river  is  altogether  detached,  and  has  a  very 
striking  resemblance  to  an  old  ruined  castle.  It  rises  from  a  dense  growth  of  trees, 
mostly  maple,  and  at  the  base  of  the  bluff  there  is  a  sort  of  natural  terrace  very 
broad  and  even,  which  is  free  from  all  vegetation  or  debris,  and  looks  like  the  terrace 
of  some  noble  old  baronial  home. 

But  all  other  portions  of  the  river  yield  to  Lake  Pepin  in  the  variety  and  per- 
fection of  the  natural  conditions  which  have  made  it  so  celebrated.  Here  the  Mis- 
sissippi swells  into  a  great  expanse  of  water  from  five  to  twenty-five  miles  in  width. 
The  water  is  very  deep,  and  in  the  summer-time  is  so  calm  that  the  eye  can  never 
discern  any  sign  of  a  current.  So  easily  do  the  side-wheel  steamers  pass  through  the 
water  that  they  appear  to  be  moving  through  the  air.  As  we  enter  Lake  Pepin  on 


THE   OHIO  AND    UPPER   MISSISSIPPI. 


543 


Lake  Pepin, 

I 

the  south,  we  observe  a  high  rock-point  on  the  left  shore,  looking  like  a  sentinel 
guarding  the  entrance  to  a  land  of  enchantment.  In  the  mid-distance  another  prom- 
ontory of  high  and  menacing  aspect  juts  out  into  the  lake,  hiding  from  view  the 
sweep  of  the  upper  end,  which  here  makes  a  bold  curve  to  the  eastward.  The  lake 
is  surrounded  by  a  superb  amphitheatre  of  hills,  many  of  which  have  an  eleva- 
tion of  five  hundred  feet.  Nearly  every  variety  of  form  is  suggested,  some  being 
square  masses  like  the  keep  of  an  old  castle ;  others  are  angular,  others  conical. 


.544 


OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 


Here  is  the  similitude  of  a  pyramid,  there  the  likeness  of  a  castle,  and  yoiider  the 
semblance  of  a  cathedral,  or  perhaps  of  the  vertical  wall  of  a  chateau  with  perfect 
moldings  of  cornice  and  plinth.  Gently  sloping  mounds,  covered  with  herbage  and 


Oc- 


s, alternate  with  huge  towering  bluffs,  but  each  has  its  own  special  beauty.  All 
of  these  does  the  delicate  surface  of  the  lake  reflect  with  marvelous  fidelity.  Lake 
Pepin  has  its  stormy  as  well  as  its  calm  aspects,  and  the  many  sail-boats  which  traverse 
its  serene  breast  with  gay  and  Haunting  sails  are  often  wrecked  or  hurled  on  the 


THE   OHIO  AND    UPPER  MISSISSIPPI.  545 

woody  shores.  Still,  in  spite  of  the  danger,  the  vicinity  to  St.  Paul  invites  a  great 
number  of  yachts  to  try  this  sailing-ground,  so  attractive  when  wind  and  weather 
favor.  Though  the  river  is  romantic  and  interesting  above  up  to  St.  Paul  itself,  the 
voyager  feels  that  what  he  has  seen  at  Trempealeau  and  Lake  Pepin  so  far  transcends 
everything  else,  it  is  hardly  worth  his  while  to  make  any  more  heavy  draughts  on  his 
resources  of  admiration. 

St.  Paul,  the  capital  of  Minnesota,  is  situated  on  both  banks  of  the  Mississippi, 
twenty-two  hundred  miles  from  the  mouth  of  the  river.  The  city  was  formerly  con- 
fined to  the  left  bank,  the  site  embracing  four  distinct  terraces,  forming  a  natural 
amphitheatre  with  a  southern  exposure  and  conforming  to  the  curve  of  the  river. 
The  city  is  mostly  built  on  the  second  and  third  terraces,  which  widen  into  level, 
semicircular  plains,  the  last  being  about  ninety  feet  above  the  river.  The  newer  por- 
tions of  St.  Paul  are  quite  irregular,  though  the  original  town  was  very  systemati- 
cally planned.  The  first  recorded  visit  to  the  site  of  St.  Paul  was  that  of  Father 
Hennepin,  the  Jesuit  missionary,  who  was  there  in  1680.  Eighty-six  years  afterward, 
Jonathan  Carver  came  to  the  place  and  made  a  treaty  with  the  Dakota  Indians 
in  what  is  now  known  as  Carver's  Cave.  The  United  States  made  their  first  treaty 
with  the  confederation  in  1837,  and  the  first  claim  was  entered  by  Pierre  Parent, 
a  Canadian  voyageur,  who  sold  it  two  years  later  for  thirty  dollars.  This  claim  is 
the  site  of  the  principal  portion  of  the  city.  At  first  St.  Paul  was  merely  a  trading- 
post,  but  ten  years  later  it  reached  enough  importance  to  be  laid  out  as  a  village,  and 
in  1854,  when  it  had  only  three  thousand  inhabitants,  it  obtained  a  city  govern- 
ment. The  name  of  the  city  is  derived  from  that  of  a  log  chapel  dedicated  to 
St.  Paul  by  a  Jesuit  in  1841.  The  surroundings  are  very  picturesque.  Two  cav- 
erns, known  respectively  as  Carver's  Cave  and  Fountain  Cave,  contain  several  very 
large  and  striking  subterranean  chambers,  and,  when  fully  explored,  may  prove 
no  less  great  natural  curiosities  than  some  of  the  better  known  grottoes.  Several 
beautiful  lakes  near  St.  Paul  make  the  city  quite  a  summer  resort  for  followers  of 
gentle  Izaak  Walton,  and  the  fine  shooting  which  is  found  even  in  this  portion  of 
Minnesota  is  another  attraction  for  summer  and  autumn  visitors.  The  city  park, 
two  hundred  acres  in  extent,  is  located  on  the  shores  of  Lake  Como,  which  is  of 
about  four  square  miles,  and  affords  good  boating  and  angling.  The  city  is  the  great 
grain  depot  of  the  State  of  Minnesota,  and  these  large  interests  have  made  St.  Paul 
one  of  the  most  important  of  the  second-class  cities  of  the  West,  its  population 
having  already  reached  nearly  forty-two  thousand. 

One  of  the  attractions  of  St.  Paul  will  always  be  found,  by  the  lovers  of  Longfel- 
low's poetry,  in  the  Falls  of  Minnehaha  on  the  Minnehaha  River,  an  outlet  of  Lake 
Minnetonka,  whose  waters  are  poured  into  the  Minnesota  not  far  from  the  junction 
of  that  river  with  the  Mississippi.  The  famous  falls  are  not  what  one  would  fancy 
from  reading  the  poem  of  "Hiawatha."  The  volume  of  water  is  not  great,  and  it  is 
at  its  lowest  that  the  effect  of  the  fall  is  most  striking.  The  chief  beauty  of  the  fall 
is  in  the  crossing  of  the  delicate  spiral  threads  of  water,  producing  the  effect  of  fine 


546 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


lace.  The  height  of  the  falls  is  about  sixty  feet,  and  on  each  side  of  the  top  of  the 
precipice  are  numerous  birch-trees,  while  the  top  of  the  gorge  is  crowned  by  a  dense 
forest.  The  veil  of  the  falling  water  is  so  thin  that  one  can  see  the  rock  behind  it. 


Falls  of  MinnehafiH. 

St.  Paul  is  the  end  of  the  navigable  waters  of  the  Mississippi,  but  the  beauty  of 
the  river,  though  it  is  no  longer  plowed  by  steamboats,  does  not  cease  at  this  point. 
Pilgrims  of  the  picturesque  always  go  up  the  river  ten  miles  to  visit  the  twin  cities  of 


THE   OHIO  AND    UPPER  MISSISSIPPI.  547 

Minneapolis  and  East  Minneapolis,  formerly  called  St.  Anthony,  which  face  each  other 
on  opposite  sides  of  the  river.  These  two  cities  were  officially  united  in  1873  under 
the  title  of  Minneapolis,  St.  Anthony  now  being  commonly  designated  as  East  Min- 
neapolis. They  are  built  on  broad  esplanades  overlooking  the  Falls  of  St.  Anthony 
and  the  river,  which  is  bordered  at  various  points  by  fine  bluffs.  The  united  city 
has  more  than  forty-six  thousand  inhabitants,  being  thus  larger  than  St.  Paul.  An 
immense  lumbering  business  is  done  here,  and  the  flouring-mill  interest  has  reached 
gigantic  proportions,  surpassing  that  of  any  city  in  the  country.  The  business  pros- 
perity of  Minneapolis  is  in  the  main  dependent  on  the  falls  of  St.  Anthony  and  the 
unsurpassed  water-power  which  it  furnishes.  This  useful  function  of  the  falls  has 
impaired  its  picturesqueness,  but  it  is  still  an  interesting  spectacle  when  viewed  from 
the  suspension-bridge.  From  this  point  of  outlook  you  see  the  grand  rapids  as  well 
as  the  cataract  itself.  The  rapids  are  very  fine,  for  the  river  here  makes  a  descent 
of  fifty  feet  in  a  mile,  and  the  jostling  waters  are  heaved  up  in  huge  waves  and  sheets 
of  spray,  while  furious  eddies  boil  and  circle  in  the  center.  The  falls  themselves  are 
only  eighteen  feet  high,  and,  without  the  rapids,  would  not  specially  satisfy  the  curi- 
osity of  the  visitor.  All  along  the  shore  are  great  masses  of  limestone  slabs,  which 
have  been  split  off  from  the  sides  of  the  bluffs  by  the  combined  action  of  the  win- 
ter ice  and  the  swift  current. 

The  source  of  the  Mississippi,  according  to  Schoolcraft,  who  visited  it  in  1832,  is 
found  in  a  lake  called  by  him  Itasca,  situated  in  Northern  Minnesota,  the  waters  of 
which  ooze  from  the  base  of  the  hills  known  as  Hauteurs  de  Terre.  At  the  outlet 
of  the  lake  the  Father  of  Waters  is  only  twelve  feet  wide  and  eighteen  inches  deep,  a 
feeble  beginning  for  the  greatest  river  in  the  world,  if  we  except  the  Amazon.  The 
river  flows  through  a  series  of  small  lakes  and  marshes,  gaining  gradually  in  width, 
and  tumbles  over  many  rapids  and  falls  on  its  way  down  the  falls  of  St.  Anthony. 
The  head-waters  are  much  frequented  by  hunters  and  trappers,  who  traverse  the  shal- 
low and  dangerous  current  in  canoes,  but  only  the  most  skillful  hand  with  the  paddle 
can  venture  on  the  swift  water  till  the  Mississippi  reaches  the  junction  of  Crow  Wing 
River,  about  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  above  Minneapolis  ;  though,  in  certain  stages  of 
the  water,  small  steamboats  ply  for  nearly  a  hundred  miles  above  the  regular  head 
of  navigation. 


New  York,  from  Fort  WadswortA,  Stattn  Island. 


THE   METROPOLIS  AND  ITS   EASTERN   SISTERS. 

The  situation  and  approaches  of  New  York — Commercial  and  industrial  greatness — Scenes  in  lower  New  York — 
Characteristics  of  Broadway — Social  life  in  New  York — The  water-front — Central  Park  and  its  attractions — 
Boston  and  its  early  colonial  history — Importance  as  a  commercial  and  manufacturing  center — Boston  Common 
— Characteristics  of  the  various  portions  of  the  city — Suburbs  of  •  Boston — The  City  of  Brotherly  Love — Its 
position  among  American  capitals — Scenes  and  features  of  interest — The  beauties  of  Fainnount  Park — Baltimore 
and  its  situation — Principal  features  of  the  city — Its  monuments  and  its  pleasure-grounds — The  political  center 
of  our  country — Its  foundation  and  beginnings — The  national  Capitol — The  White  House  and  other  public 
buildings — Characteristics  of  Washington  life. 

WE  have  already  spoken  at  considerable  length  in  other  chapters  of  the  principal 
Western  and  Southern  cities,  and  we  must  now  devote  a  chapter  to  the  more  impor- 
tant cities  on  our  Atlantic  sea-board — New  York,  Boston.  Philadelphia,  Baltimore, 
and  Washington. 

NEW  YORK,  the  commercial  and  financial  center  of  the  United  States,  as  well  as 
the  largest  city  in  population,  is  the  third  great  capital  of  the  world,  and  is  destined 
ultimately,  perhaps,  to  be  its  first.  Though  the  population  of  New  York  City  proper 
is  only  1,206,299,  according  to  the  census  of  1880,  yet  measured  by  its  metropolitan 
aspects,  which  furnish  the  standard  of  estimate  in  fixing  the  populations  of  London, 


THE  METROPOLIS  AND  ITS  EASTERN  SISTERS.  549 

Paris,  etc.,  it  should  be  considered  to  include  the  cities  of  Brooklyn,  Jersey  City,  and 
Hoboken,  which  are  essentially  parts  of  New  York,  though  none  of  them  are  on 
Manhattan  Island.  This  would  swell  the  number  given  above  to  very  nearly  two 
millions  of  people.  New  York  is  the  most  universal  and  typical  of  American  cities. 
Here  alone  may  be  witnessed  the  settled  phases  of  our  American  civilization,  as  well 
as  many  of  the  most  curious  aspects  of  foreign  life.  The  city  now  includes  Manhattan 
Island  ;  Blackwell's,  Ward's,  and  Eandall's  Islands  in  the  East  Eiver  ;  Governor's, 
Bedloe's,  and  Ellis's  Islands  in  the  bay,  occupied  by  the  United  States  Government ; 
and  a  portion  of  the  mainland  north  of  Manhattan  Island,  separated  from  it  by 
Harlem  Kiver  and  Spuyten  Duyvil  Creek.  It  is  situated  at  the  mouth  of  the  Hudson 
Kiver,  and  its  commercial  advantages  are  unequaled.  Its  extreme  length  north  from 
the  Battery  is  sixteen  miles ;  its  greatest  width  is  four  and  a  half  miles.  Its  area  is 
forty-one  and  a  half  square  miles,  or  twenty-six  thousand  acres.  The  island  on  which 
the  city  is  mostly  built  is  surrounded  on  all  sides  by  water  navigable  for  the  most  part 
by  the  largest  vessels,  and  the  harbor  is  one  of  the  safest,  largest,  and  most  beautiful 
in  the  world. 

Less  than  three  centuries  have  elapsed  since  Henry  Hudson,  the  Dutch  navigator, 
passed  through  the  Narrows  and  disembarked  from  his  little  schooner  on  the  present 
site  of  the  Battery.  Traders  followed  Hudson,  and  in  1614  the  future  metropolis  of 
the  New  World  consisted  of  a  small  fort  on  the  site  of  Bowling  Green,  and  four 
houses.  It  was  then  called  "  Nieu  Amsterdam,"  and  the  domain  acquired  was  named 
the  New  Netherlands.  When  it  finally  came  into  possession  of  the  English  in  1674, 
and  the  name  was  changed  to  New  York,  the  settlement  expanded  and  grew  with  great 
rapidity.  The  spirit  of  the  staid  and  conservative  Dutch  burgher  gave  way  to  that 
of  the  pushing  and  energetic  Anglo-Saxon,  a  race  distinguished  in  history  for  its 
success  in  colonization,  and  the  union  of  progress  and  stability  which  it  stamps  on  its 
institutions,  both  political  and  social.  In  1699  the  population  had  increased  to  about 
6,000.  At  the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century  the  number  had  reached  60,000, 
and  the  city  extended  about  two  miles  north  from  the  Battery  ;  in  1830  it  was 
202,000  ;  in  1840,  312,710 ;  in  1850,  515,000  ;  in  1860,  805,000  ;  and  in  1870,  942,000. 
Until  the  latter  part  of  1873  the  northern  boundary  ended  at  the  Harlem  River,  but 
in  that  year  the  towns  of  West  Farms,  Morrisania,  and  King's  Bridge,  hitherto  a  part 
of  Westchester  County,  were  annexed  to  the  advancing  metropolis. 

Perhaps  no  harbor  in  the  world  is  more  picturesque,  with  the  exception  of  the 
Bay  of  Naples,  than  that  of  New  York.  From  some  elevated  point  on  Staten  Island 
the  observer  may  gaze  on  a  vista  of  natural  beauty,  heightened  by  suggestions  of 
human  interest  and  activity,  which  alike  charms  the  eye  and  stirs  the  imagination. 
The  outer  bar  is  at  Sandy  Hook,  eighteen  miles  from  the  Battery,  and  is  crossed  by 
two  ship-channels  from  twenty-one  to  thirty-two  feet  deep  at  ebb-tide,  and  from 
twenty-seven  to  thirty-nine  feet  at  the  flood,  thus  admitting  ships  of  the  greatest 
draught.  The  Narrows  is  the  name  of  the  strait  by  which  the  inner  bay  communi- 
cates with  the  outer  or  maritime  bay,  and  is  formed  by  the  approach  of  the  shores 


550 


OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 


of  Long  Island  and  Staten  Isl- 
and within  a  mile  of  each  oth- 
er.    This  strait  may  be  likened 
to  a  gate- way  from  the  ocean, 
while  standing  like  huge  sen- 
tinels to  guard  the  watery  pass 
are  Forts  Wadsworth  (formerly 
called   Richmond)   and   Tomp- 
kins,  on  the  verge  of  the  Staten 
Island  shore,  and  Fort  Hamil- 
ton on  the  Long  Island  shore. 
As  the   inward-bound  traveler 
sails  fairly  within  the  bay,  the 
picture  becomes  very  striking. 
He    is   now  within   the    heart 
of  a  fleet  of  stately  ships  and 
steamers,  plowing  a  surface  cut 
by  all  the  keels  of  the  civil- 
ized world.     In  the  foreground 
there  are  patches  of  green,  that 
in  the  summer  sun  sparkle  like 
great  emeralds  in  a  silver  set- 
ting— Bedloe's,  Ellis's,  and  Gov- 
ernor's Islands,  whereon  are  de- 
fensive   fortifications,    Bedloe's 
Island  being  the  proposed  site 
of  the  colossal  statue  of  Liber- 
ty, the  gift  of  the  French  peo- 
ple,  now   being   sculptured   by 
Bartholdy.     The  traveler  looks 
on  a  map  every  item  of  which 
is  eloquent  with  busy  life.      In 
front  looms  the  great  metropo- 
lis, with  its  miles  of  roofs  and 
broken  outlines  of  spires,  tow- 
ers, and  domes,  speaking  of  re- 
ligion, thought,  art,  trade,  and 
industry,  developed  under  their 
busiest  conditions.      On   either 
side,  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach, 
the   water-line   is  fringed  with 
a  dense  forest   of  masts  from 


THE  METROPOLIS  AND   ITS  EASTERN  SISTERS.  551 

which  fly  the  vari-colored  flags  that  represent  the  commerce  of  the  globe,  and  reveal 
such  a  story  of  the  brotherhood  of  man.  On  the  left  may  be  seen  the  tributary 
cities  of  the  New  Jersey  shore ;  on  the  right  Brooklyn,  one  of  the  great  dormitories 
of  New  York ;  and  spanning  the  East  River  in  one  bold  leap  from  shore  to  shore 
the  huge  Brooklyn  Bridge,  nearly  sixteen  hundred  feet  long,  and  the  largest  of  its 
kind  in  the  world.  The  situation  of  New  York  is  most  advantageous.  Lying  between 
the  Hudson  (or  North)  and  the  East  Eivers,  it  has  two  very  extended  and  convenient 
stretches  of  docks  and  wharves,  while  the  water-fronts  of  the  tributary  cities  represent 
no  less  the  shipping  interests  of  the  port.  The  Hudson  bears  an  enormous  aggre- 
gate of  passengers  and  freight  on  its  waters,  and  on  the  other  side  the  Long  Island 
Sound  pours  its  waters  through  a  narrow  gate-way,  and  furnishes  easy  water-carriage 
between  the  metropolis  and  the  northern  coast.  The  immense  commercial  and  indus- 
trial importance  of  New  York  may  be  estimated  from  a  few  figures  derived  from  the 
latest  available  sources.  In  1876  the  imports  were  $199,025,371,  and  the  exports 
$279,097,136.  The  manufactures,  though  inferior  to  its  mercantile  interests,  are  also 
varied  and  extensive.  In  value  of  products,  according  to  the  census  of  1870,  it  was 
the  first  city  of  the  country,  though  surpassed  by  Philadelphia  in  the  value  of  material 
used,  amount  of  capital  invested,  and  the  number  of  establishments.  In  1880  there 
were  11,162  manufacturing  establishments,  employing  about  200,000  hands,  and  pro- 
ducing goods  valued  at  $448,209,248.  The  census  returns  of  1880  show  that  New 
York  is  in  all  these  repects  the  first  of  American  manufacturing  cities. 

The  stranger  visiting  New  York  is  at  once  impressed  by  the  intense  activity  and 
bustle  alike  visible  and  audible  in  all  the  conditions  of  its  street-life.  The  crush  of 
carriages,  drays,  trucks,  and  other  vehicles,  private  and  public,  roaring  and  rattling 
over  the  stone-paved  streets  ;  the  crowds  of  swiftly  moving  men  walking  as  if  not  to 
lose  a  second  of  time,  their  faces  preoccupied  and  eager ;  the  sidewalks  encumbered, 
without  regard  to  the  convenience  of  pedestrians,  with  boxes  and  bales  of  goods — in  a 
word,  the  whole  aspect  of  New  York  in  its  business  portions  is  a  true  key  to  the 
character  of  its  population,  as  the  most  energetic  and  restless  of  people. 

The  Battery,  which  looks  out  on  the  noble  bay,  is  a  quiet  oasis  in  the  turmoil  of 
city  life,  but  one  hardly  crosses  its  boundaries  without  feeling  the  feverish  heart-beat 
of  the  city.  Walking  up  Broadway  only  a  few  squares,  we  quickly  find  ourselves  in 
that  net-work  of  thoroughfares  which  lies  around  Wall  Street,  a  financial  center  only 
second  to  Lombard  Street,  London,  in  the  variety  and  weight  of  its  moneyed  interests. 

At  the  head  of  Wall  Street,  on  Broadway,  Trinity  Church  uplifts  its  graceful  spire 
as  if  a  perpetual  reminder  of  more  solemn  things  ;  but  the  busy  money-getters,  who 
swarm  like  flies  under  the  shadow  of  its  venerable  walls,  find  no  time  or  taste  to 
linger  over  such  reflections.  The  streets  running  parallel  with  Wall  Street  for  two  or 
three  squares,  and  crossing  it,  are  lined  with  massive  and  splendid  structures,  in 
which  the  principal  banking  and  railway  business  of  the  continent  is  transacted. 
Here  are  the  great  transactions  in  the  stocks,  bonds,  and  money  of  the  country,  and 
on  an  active  day  in  the  stock-market  the  excitement  reaches  such  a  pitch  that  the 


552  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

stranger  might  almost  fancy  himself  in  an  out-door  bedlam.  Stepping  from  the  life 
of  the  streets  into  the  human  din  of  the  Stock  Exchange,  we  see  from  the  Strangers' 
Gallery  an  extraordinary  scene,  a  tangled  mass  of  human  beings  shrieking  and  waving 
their  arms  like  madmen  without  apparent  order  or  purpose.  But  underneath  all  the 
seeming  chaos  the  most  intelligent  plans  and  purposes  reign  and  make  up  a  system 
like  a  piece  of  clock-work. 

Nearly  the  whole  of  the  lower  part  of  New  York  is  built  up  with  noble  and 
costly  buildings,  and  fine  structures  are  continually  being  torn  down  to  make  way  for 
grander  ones.  It  is  only  on  the  water-front  that  old  and  dingy  edifices  of  a  former 
generation  are  still  permitted  to  remain.  The  main  life  of  the  city  flows  and  ebbs 
through  Broadway,  one  of  the  noted  thoroughfares  of  the  world.  This  street  extends 
from  the  Battery  to  Central  Park,  a  distance  of  five  miles,  and  probably  there  is 
more  variety  in  its  architecture,  its  shops,  and  its  throngs  of  people,  than  can  be 
found  elsewhere  in  any  city.  The  life  of  Broadway  is  seen  to  excellent  advantage  on 
the  Post-Office  corner  at  the  junction  of  Park  Row.  From  morning  till  night  there 
moves  by  an  ever-changing  procession  of  vehicles  that  have  poured  into  the  great 
artery  from  innumerable  side-streets,  and,  to  cross  Broadway  at  times,  at  this  spot, 
one  must  needs  be  a  sort  of  animated  billiard-ball,  with  power  to  carom  from  wheel 
to  wheel,  until  he  can  safely  find  a  goal  on  the  opposite  walk.  The  crush  of  vehicles 
here  is  sometimes  so  great  as  to  delay  movement  for  ten  minutes  or  more,  and  it 
requires  the  greatest  energy  on  the  part  of  the  police  to  disentangle  the  dense,  chaotic 
mass  and  set  it  in  progress  again.  For  those  who  are  not  obliged  to  cross  the  choked- 
up  thoroughfare,  the  scene  is  full  of  a  brief  amusement — hack-drivers,  truck-men, 
omnibus-drivers,  swearing  vehemently  at  each  other  or  interchanging  all  kinds  of 
"chaff";  passengers  indignantly  railing  at  the  delay,  and  police-officers  yelling  and 
waving  their  clubs  in  their  attempts  to  get  the  machinery  of  travel  again  running 
smoothly.  At  this  point  ceases  what  may  be  called  the  "financial"  portion  of  the 
city,  and  begins  that  department  of  business-life  which  deals  with  heavy  articles  of 
merchandise — such  as  iron,  hardware,  food-products,  textile  fabrics,  etc.  Much  of 
the  wholesale  trade  of  the  city  is  concentrated  in  a  region  about  a  mile  in  length 
above  Chambers  Street,  extending  four  or  five  squares  on  either  side  of  the  central 
thoroughfare.  The  view  up  and  down  is  exceedingly  picturesque  as  we  advance.  As 
far  as  the  eye  can  reach  it  gathers  in  a  range  of  business  palaces,  representing  every 
variety  of  taste,  style,  and  beauty,  while  between  them  and  on  the  sidewalk  is  an 
ever-changing  scene  in  which  light,  color,  and  motion,  combine  to  create  a  charm 
that  never  tires.  There  is  a  fascination  even  in  the  throng  of  vehicles,  the  faces  in 
the  omnibuses  and  private  carriages,  the  gay  turn-outs  and  handsome  equipages  ;  and 
in  the  strange  commingling  of  people  passing  to  and  fro,  representing  every  State 
and  country,  every  style  of  dress  from  that  of  the  Oriental  to  the  last  fashion  of  the 
Anglo-Saxon,  there  is  a  vivid  attraction  that  compels  the  stranger  to  linger  and 
enjoy  the  kaleidoscopic  scene.  For  three  miles  the  change  is  continual,  the  continuity 
of  effect  is  unbroken  ;  and  a  walk  up  or  down  Broadway  is  one  of  the  pleasantest 


THE  METROPOLIS  AND  ITS  EASTERN  SISTERS. 


553 


554  OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 

reminiscences  of  a  visit  to  the  metropolis.  It  is  a  curious  feature  of  the  Broadway 
crowd,  by-the-way,  that  its  phases  are  different  at  different  hours  of  the  day.  Early 
in  the  morning,  for  instance,  you  will  see  the  working-people,  the  sewing-girls,  and 
younger  clerks,  pouring  into  the  street  from  right  and  left,  and  hurrying  downward. 
At  eight  or  nine  o'clock  the  procession  is  chiefly  composed  of  business-men — those 
who  fill  the  counting-rooms  and  the  law-offices.  From  ten  to  three  the  ladies  appear 
in  full  force  on  shopping  expeditions,  and  then  the  tide  begins  to  turn  upward,  till  at 
four  o'clock  a  hundred  thousand  are  promenading.  At  six  the  poorer  classes  are 
again  Homeward  bound ;  and  then,  until  morning,  Broadway  is  abandoned  to  the 
pleasure-seeker,  midnight  prowler,  and  poor  wretches  who  have  shunned  the  light  of 
day.  Above  Union  Square  on  Broadway  are  to  be  seen  the  best  shops  devoted  to 
jewelry,  bric-a-brac,  ornamental  goods,  ladies'  apparel,  and  fancy  articles  of  every  de- 
scription, while  the  groups  of  well-dressed  and  handsome  women  standing  at  every 
show-window  make  the  street-scene  even  more  fascinating  than  the  glowing  colors 
shining  behind  the  plate-glass. 

If  Wall  Street  typifies  the  great  financial  interests  of  New  York,  Broadway  its 
commerce  and  trade,  so  Fifth  Avenue  expresses  the  most  striking  aspects  of  its  social 
life.  This  noble  street  begins  at  Washington  Square  and  runs  to  the  Harlem  Riv- 
er. Along  the  line  of  the  avenue  and  for  a  square  on  each  side  are  concentrated 
the  wealth  and  aristocracy  of  the  city,  though  shops  have  begun  to  encroach  already 
on  portions  of  the  avenue.  Here  may  be  found  some  of  the  most  costly  residences 
in  the  world,  notably  the  home  of  the  late  A.  T.  Stewart  and  the  Vanderbilt  man- 
sions, while  all  the  blocks  are  massive  and  palatial  in  the  character  of  their  houses. 
Street-scenes  on  Fifth  Avenue  are  full  of  interest  and  picturesqueness.  The  window- 
fronts  during  the  summer  months  are  decorated  with  tiled  flower-boxes  laden  with  a 
perfect  wealth  of  blossoms  in  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow.  In  the  afternoons  the 
street  is  thronged  with  fine  equipages,  en  route  to  and  from  Central  Park,  and  the 
display  of  showy  animals  and  vehicles  is  such  as  can  not  be  easily  surpassed.  The 
sidewalks  are  hardly  less  interesting  in  the  throngs  of  well-dressed  and  well-looking 
pedestrians  surging  back  and  forth.  With  this  the  stranger  must  be  content,  though 
he  may  long  to  look  behind  the  stately  facades  of  brown-stone  and  peep  into  the 
huge  club-houses,  the  expensive  libraries,  the  fine  picture-galleries,  and  richly  fur- 
nished drawing-rooms  of  this  region  of  merchant-princes. 

On  Fifth  Avenue  are  to  be  seen  also  most  of  the  nobler  church  edifices  of  New 
York.  Many  of  these  are  imposing  and  dignified  in  their  architecture,  and  represent 
all  the  different  denominations.  St.  Patrick's  Cathedral,  on  the  square  between  Fif- 
tieth and  Fifty-first  Streets,  is  peculiarly  noticeable.  It  is  built  in  the  Decorated 
Gothic  style  of  the  fifteenth  century,  and,  when  completed,  it  will  compete  in  beauty 
with  many  of  the  fine  cathedrals  of  Europe.  It  is  the  largest  edifice  designed  for 
ecclesiastical  use  in  the  New  World,  except  the  Mormon  Temple  at  Salt  Lake  City, 
and  the  Cathedral  of  Mexico. 

The   observer  of  street-life   in   New   York    will   find   one  of  its   most  curious  and 


THE  METROPOLIS  AND   ITS  EASTERN  SISTERS. 


555 


interesting  features  in  the  system  of  elevated  railways.  This  seems  to  have  been  the 
only  convenient  method  of  solving  the  vexed  problem  of  rapid  transit  in  a  city  of 
such  long  and  narrow  formation.  There  are  four  of  these  lines,  though  under  one 
management,  two  on  the  east  side  and  two  on  the  west  side  of  Broadway.  Three  of 


556  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

them  extend  from  the  Battery  to  different  points  on  the  Harlem  River,  while  the 
other  terminates  at  Central  Park.  The  Metropolitan  Line,  at  One  Hundred  and 
Tenth  Street,  between  Eighth  and  Ninth  Avenues  is  remarkable  for  the  height  of  the 
structure,  which  rises  sixty-three  feet  above  the  street-level.  Here  the  massive  iron 
beams  and  girders,  owing  to  their  great  elevation,  appear  too  frail  to  bear  the  burden 
imposed  on  them.  As  one  drives  under  this  giant  curved  bridge  and  sees  the  trains 
gliding  in  the  air  far  over  his  head,  fancy  is  fascinated  by  the  daring  of  science, 
which  thus  overcomes  great  difficulties  by  the  precision  with  which  it  adapts  its 
means  to  its  ends. 

No  description  of  the  metropolis  of  the  United  States  would  be  adequate  without 
at  least  a  glance  at  its  water-front,  which  is  twenty-four  and  three  quarter  miles  in 
length.  Here  one  can  muse  for  hours,  dream  himself  into  the  tropics  or  the  frozen 
North,  and  wake  to  a  vivid  idea  of  the  great  extent  and  variety  of  our  sea-board 
commerce.  Thousands  of  small  craft,  propelled  by  steam  and  sail,  fleck  the  stream. 
A  fleet  of  grander  vessels  towers  over  our  heads  on  the  rising  tide  in  their  berths. 
These  are  gathered  like  an  army  of  pilgrims  from  the  shrines  of  every  nation,  with 
peace-offerings  and  treasures  after  struggle  and  victory.  The  trade  accommodated  by 
the  wharves  of  New  York  will  astonish  the  reader  not  versed  in  commercial  statistics. 
The  number  of  entrances  of  sailing-vessels  engaged  in  foreign  trade  for  1880  was 
5.775,  with  a  tonnage  of  2,917,741  tons  ;  and  the  number  of  entrances  of  steamers 
the  same  year  was  1,826,  witli  a  tonnage  of  4,604,652  tons.  The  number  of  clear- 
ances for  the  same  year  (foreign  trade)  was  5,604  sailing-vessels,  with  a  tonnage  of 
2,951,349  tons,  and  1,833  steamers,  with  a  tonnage  of  4,623,265  tons.  Referring  to 
the  coastwise  trade,  we  find  entrances  and  clearances  of  3,376  sailing-vessels,  and  of 
3,018  steamers,  with  an  aggregate  of  4,588,654  tons.  This  shows  an  aggregate  of 
21,492  vessels,  but,  as  each  vessel  is  included  both  in  the  clearances  and  entrances, 
we  must  estimate  one  half  of  the  number,  or  10,746  vessels,  as  entering  and  clearing 
New  York  Harbor  in  the  course  of  the  year.  The  tonnage  of  New  York  fell  off  very 
materially  during  the  war,  and  since  that  time  a  large  part  of  the  business  which  was 
formerly  done  in  American  ships  has  been  transferred  to  foreign  bottoms,  a  drawback 
from  which  we  have  very  recently  commenced  to  recover. 

The  water-front  from  the  Battery  up  the  North  River  is  largely  devoted  to  the 
accommodation  of  the  steamship  lines,  while  that  on  the  East  River  is  more  noticeable 
for  the  multitude  of  sailing-ships,  whose  shapely  spars  and  lofty  rigging  constitute 
a  tangled  forest  along  the  procession  of  wharves.  Let  us  first  take  a  look  at  the 
broad  quay  on  the  North  River  where  we  find  in  long  array  the  immense  ocean-steam- 
ers of  the  Cunard,  the  Inman,  the  White  Star,  the  State,  and  other  European  lines, 
which  bring  us  weekly  from  abroad  thousands  of  tourists  and  immigrants,  and  the  most 
valuable  freights.  The  arrival  or  departure  of  one  of  these  noble  specimens  of  man's 
triumphs  over  nature  is  always  a  stirring  sight.  European  steamers  leave  and  arrive 
at  the  port  of  New  York  daily,  sometimes  half  a  'dozen  in  a  single  day  ;  and,  in 
addition  to  these  great  ships,  that  ply  over  the  ocean-ferry  to  Europe,  of  which 


THE  METROPOLIS  AND  ITS  EASTERN  SISTERS. 


557 


558  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

there  are  thirteen  lines,  there  are  lines  to  South  and  Central  America,  the  West 
Indies,  the  Windward  Islands,  Florida,  New  Orleans,  Texas,  Mexico,  Cuba,  and 
various  other  foreign  or  domestic  destinations.  An  ocean-steamer  is  a  vast  floating 
hotel,  where  rich  and  poor  find  accommodations  to  suit  their  means  and  their  tastes. 
When  one  of  these  great  vessels,  decked  with  flags,  and  crowded  with  people  on  its 
decks,  waving  handkerchiefs  to  their  friends  ashore,  moves  out  of  the  wharf,  it  is  one 
of  the  most  striking  scenes  to  be  witnessed  on  the  water-front  of  the  city,  fruitful  as 
it  is  in  interesting  suggestions.  Although  the  stormy  Atlantic  has  become  merely  a 
great  ocean-ferry,  an  occasional  disaster  by  storm  or  fire  still  invests  travel  across  its 
long  leagues  of  sea  with  that  dim  suggestion  of  tragedy  and  horror  which  always 
belongs  to  the  unknown.  The  scenes  consequent  on  the  arrival  of  an  ocean-steamer 
have  also  their  interesting  phases,  often  mixed  with  a  dash  of  the  ludicrous,  which 
grow  out  of  the  inspection  of  the  baggage  by  the  customs-officers. 

The  wharves  are  generally  crowded  with  stevedores  and  other  laborers  busy  in  load- 
ing and  unloading  ships,  and  a  continual  succession  of  drays  is  going  and  coming, 
making  the  approaches  more  than  ordinarily  difficult  to  the  foot-passenger.  The  busi- 
ness of  the  stevedore  is  one  requiring  special  skill  and  knowledge,  as  the  problem  of 
packing  away  the  various  freight  in  the  most  compact  form  without  too  much  inter- 
fering with  the  balance  of  the  ship  is  not  an  easy  one  to  solve.  In  and  out  of  the 
swarm  of  laborers  darts  the  ragged  gutter-snipe,  his  sharp  eye  cocked  for  a  chance  to 
steal  any  article,  if  it  be  only  an  orange  or  a  cocoanut,  whenever  the  attention  of  the 
policeman  is  turned  away  from  him.  Accidents  are  not  uncommon  along  the  water- 
front, and  one  wonders  that  they  are  not  more  frequent.  Strong  men  with  bare 
breasts  and  arms,  sweating  in  the  hot  sun,  toil  up  and  down  the  narrow  gang-plank 
from  ship  to  shore  in  an  endless  file,  bearing  on  their  stooping  shoulders  great  bur- 
dens of  barrels,  boxes,  bales,  etc.  Suddenly  one  of  these  human  dray-horses  slips  and 
falls  a  dozen  feet  or  more,  crushed  and  mangled.  Such  is  a  passing  episode,  quickly 
accomplished  and  soon  forgotten  in  the  tumult  of  human  interests  surging  around  ; 
but  it  means  misery  and  wretchedness  to  a  few  hearts. 

Passing  to  the  East  River  water-front,  we  find  scenes  of  not  less  curious  interest. 
At  the  southern  end  we  observe  the  canal-boats  which  bring  down  the  freight  of  the 
Erie  Canal,  and  the  stranger  would  scarcely  suspect  the  immense  commerce  which 
belongs  to  it.  The  families  of  the  canal-boatmen  live  on  these  queer  craft,  and 
give  them  an  air  of  domesticity.  The  principal  lines  of  transportation  from  the 
West  to  the  East  include  about  ten  thousand  miles  of  railway,  seven  thousand  miles 
of  river,  sixteen  hundred  miles  of  lake,  and  sixteen  hundred  miles  of  canal.  The 
total  freight  carried  over  them  in  one  year  is  about  ten  million  tons,  one  fourth 
of  which  is  transported  by  boats  through  the  Erie  Canal  and  down  the  Hudson 
River.  These  latter  travel  over  ten  million  miles  in  a  season,  and  give  employ- 
ment to  twenty-eight  thousand  men  and  sixteen  thousand  mules  and  horses.  Passing 
through  the  quiet  valleys  of  the  Genesee  and  Mohawk,  they  appear  so  primitive  in 
structure  and  slow  in  motion  that  few  would  be  willing  to  give  them  credit  for  so 


THE  METROPOLIS  AND  ITS  EASTERN  SISTERS.  559 

much  usefulness.  But,  inert  as  they  apparently  are,  their  service  to  commerce  is  but 
little  if  any  less  than  that  of  the  railroads,  whose  trains  travel  farther  in  a  day  than 
the  boats  do  in  a  week.  Ships  of  every  description,  from  small  brigs  and  schooners 
to  stately  three-masted  clippers,  line  the  piers  and  wharves  as  we  advance.  One  inter- 
esting feature  of  the  East  River  front  is  found  in  the  fruit-schooners  that  bring  to 
the  city  oranges,  bananas,  pine-apples,  lemons,  etc.,  from  the  tropics.  No  city  in  the 
world  out  of  southern  latitudes  can  show  such  a  variety  of  luscious  fruits.  The 
immense  contrast  of  climate  within  our  own  borders,  and  the  proximity  of  New  York 
to  the  West  Indies,  the  most  luxuriant  fruit-producing  region  in  the  world,  fill  the 
market  in  turn  with  the  most  delicious  products  of  vegetable  nature.  The  sight  of 
the  booths  in  the  fruit-market,  with  its  burden  of  varied  color,  is  a  study  for  the 
painter  in  its  rich  luxuriance  of  hues,  as  well  as  suggestive  to  the  epicure.  As  the 
sight-seer  strolls  from  wharf  to  wharf,  he  constantly  sees  something  new  to  strike  his 
attention.  Here  is  the  little  Florida  orange-schooner,  with  her  sun-stained  and  shaggy 
sails  and  cordage,  and  boatmen  still  more  brown  and  shaggy.  There  is  a  Cuban  brig- 
antine,  with  its  richly  odorous  pine-apples  and  bananas,  and  we  can  almost  smell  the 
balmy  tropical  breezes  and  see  the  splendor  of  tropical  vegetation  as  we  give  fancy 
the  rein,  and  find  ourselves  transported  thousands  of  miles  away.  We  behold  on  the 
wharves  cargoes  of  aromatic  teas  from  China  and  Japan,  pungent  hides  from  Texas 
and  Buenos  Ayres,  huge  swollen  bales  of  white  cotton  from  Louisiana,  coffees  from 
Brazil  and  Venezuela,  expensive  silks  and  wines  from  France.  The  commerce  of  the 
most  widely  scattered  zones  is  emptied  on  these  shabby  wharves  in  royal  profusion, 
and  among  it  all  lounge  swart  and  bearded  sailors,  whose  gay  bandanas  and  silver 
ear-rings  show  beings  distinct  from  any  ordinary  type  in  their  lives,  their  tastes,  and 
their  notions. 

No  visitor  to  this  side  of  New  York  can  fail  to  look  with  interested  eyes  at  the 
East  River  (or,  as  it  is  more  commonly  called,  the  Brooklyn)  Bridge.  Over  this  lofty 
roadway  will  soon  pass  much  of  the  traffic  and  travel  of  the  two  cities,  and  its  exist- 
ence will  go  far  to  accomplish  their  union.  The  number  of  people  who  annually  cross 
the  river  is  now  probably  but  little  short  of  eighty  million.  The  inadequacy  of  the 
ferries  to  accommodate  the  immense  number  of  persons  daily  crossing  between  the 
two  cities,  and  the  interruptions  so  often  caused  by  fog  and  ice,  led  to  the  project  of 
constructing  this  great  bridge,  which  is  not  likely  to  be  fully  completed  for  another 
year  at  least.  The  New  York  terminus  is  in  Chatham  Square,  near  the  Post-Office, 
while  the  supporting  tower  on  the  New  York  side  is  at  the  pier  near  the  foot  of 
Roosevelt  Street.  The  bridge  may  be  divided  into  five  parts :  the  central  span  crosses 
the  river  from  tower  to  tower,  fifteen  hundred  and  ninety-five  feet  long  ;  a  span  on 
each  side  from  the  tower  to  the  anchorage  nine  hundred  and  forty  feet  long  ;  and 
the  approaches  from  the  terminus  to  the  anchorage  on  each  side.  The  total  length 
approaches  six  thousand  feet.  The  width  of  eighty-five  feet  will  include  a  prome- 
nade, two  railroad-tracks,  and  four  wagon  or  horse-car  tracks.  The  height  of  the 
floor  of  the  bridge  from  high  water  is  one  hundred  and  thirty-five  feet,  which  will 


560  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

enable  the  loftiest  ships  to  pass  under  by  lowering  their  topmasts.  The  towers  are 
two  hundred  and  sixty-eight  feet  in  height,  and  their  massive  proportions  are  anchored 
on  caissons  sunk  to  the  rock  beneath.  Each  of  the  four  steel  cables,  which  are  sixteen 
inches  in  diameter,  after  passing  over  the  towers  enters  the  walls  of  the  anchorage 
eighty  feet  above  high  water,  and  goes  through  the  masonry  a  distance  of  twenty  feet, 
at  which  point  a  connection  is  formed  with  the  anchor-chains.  Each  anchorage  con- 
tains about  thirty-five  thousand  cubic  yards  of  masonry.  The  spans  from  the  anchor- 
ages to  the  towers  are  suspended  to  the  cables,  and  carried  over  the  roofs  of  the 
buildings  underneath.  The  approach  on  the  Brooklyn  side  from  the  terminus  to  the 
anchorage  measures  eight  hundred  and  thirty-six  feet ;  on  the  New  York  side,  thir- 
teen hundred  and  thirty-six  feet.  These  approaches  are  supported  by  iron  girders 
and  trusses,  which  rest  at  short  intervals  upon  piers  of  masonry,  or  iron  columns 
built  within  the  blocks  crossed  and  occupied.  The  streets  are  crossed  by  stone  arches 
at  such  elevations  as  to  leave  them  unobstructed.  The  Brooklyn  terminus  is  sixty- 
eight  feet  above  high  tide.  The  cost  has  already  largely  exceeded  the  original  esti- 
mate for  the  entire  work,  and  before  it  is  fully  completed  some  fifteen  million  dollars 
will  in  all  probability  have  been  expended.  The  heavy  masonry  for  the  anchorages 
and  street  approaches  is  far  advanced  toward  completion,  and  it  is  now  (1882)  reason- 
able to  hope  that  the  bridge  will  soon  be  opened  for  use.  Nowhere  else  in  the  world 
will  the  eye  be  greeted  by  lines  of  metropolitan  traffic  and  travel  running  one  hun- 
dred and  thirty-five  feet  above  the  water-level. 

One  of  the  most  enduring  memories  for  those  who  visit  New  York  (and  there  are 
but  few  Americans  who  do  not  look  forward  to  it,  however  remote  their  homes  may 
be)  will  be  found  in  Central  .Park,  which  thirty  years  ago  was  a  wild,  uncouth  region 
of  swamps  and  rocks,  promising  anything  but  the  beauty  since  developed  by  the  skill 
of  the  engineer,  architect,  landscape-gardener,  and  sculptor.  This  pleasaunce,  as  such 
places  were  called  by  the  old  writers,  embraces  eight  hundred  and  forty-three  acres,  an 
area  which  extends  from  Fifty-ninth  to  One  Hundred  and  Tenth  Street  and  from 
Fifth  to  Eighth  Avenue,  and  it  already  ranks  among  the  great  parks  of  Christendom. 
At  any  hour  of  the  day  thousands  may  be  seen  gathered  to  enjoy  their  walks  or 
drives.  Hundreds  of  thousands  of  dollars  are  annually  expended  in  beautifying  it, 
and  when  it  shall  be  finally  completed  and  becomes  a  treasure  of  art,  science,  and 
natural  history,  as  it  is  now  in  part ;  when  the  avenues  by  which  it  is  bounded  have 
become  lined  with  handsome  mansions  and  grown  shady  with  trees,  it  will  have  but 
few  rivals  and  110  superior.  Central  Park  is  essentially  a  democratic  place.  It  was 
created  for  the  enjoyment  of  the  people,  and,  when  you  drive  there  on  a  Saturday  or 
Sunday  afternoon,  you  will  see  a  brilliant  and  ever-changing  pageant,  such  as  you  will 
not  find  elsewhere.  The  most  expensive  vehicles  of  the  wealthy  classes  will  be 
mingled  with  the  humbler  barouche  that  has  been  hired  for  the  occasion  by  a  family 
pleasure-party,  or  perhaps  you  may  find  yourself  side  by  side  with  the  grocery- wagon 
of  some  sturdy  German  who  has  brought  his  frau  and  little  ones  to  enjoy  the  stir- 
ring scene,  and  is  en  route  to  the  lager-bier  saloons  of  the  upper  portions  of  the  island. 


THE  METROPOLIS  AND   ITS  EASTERN  SISTER 8. 

VI      , 


561. 


. 

The  Mall,  Ventral  /bnfc. 


36 


562  OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 

Everything,  in  fact,  belongs  to  the  living  panorama,  from  the  nurse  and  baby-wagon 
to  the  old-fashioned  rockaway  of  the  Westchester  farmer,  and  the  landau  of  the  fash- 
ionable lady.  Fast  horses  and  many  of  the  celebrities  of  the  city  are  frequent  visitors 
to  the  park,  and  perhaps  it  is  the  best  of  all  localities  in  New  York  wherein  to  ob- 
serve the  characteristic  phases  of  out-of-door  metropolitan  life. 

The  attractions  of  this  park  can  not  better  be  compassed  in  a  few  words  than  by 
giving  some  statistics.  The  length  of  carriage  ways  or  drives,  ranging  from  fifty-four 
to  sixty  feet  in  width,  is  about  nine  miles ;  the  length  of  bridle-paths,  having  an 
average  width  of  sixteen  feet,  is  a  little  over  five  miles ;  and  the  footpaths,  which  are 
from  thirteen  to  forty  feet  in  width,  make  a  total  of  more  than  twenty-eight  miles  in 
length.  There  are  thirty  buildings  of  all  kinds  in  the  park,  and  seats  to  accommo- 
date ten  thousand  persons,  a  large  number  of  these  seats  being  in  shaded  grottoes. 
On  the  four  hundred  acres  of  grove,  there  have  been  planted  since  the  opening  of  the 
park  about  half  a  million  of  trees,  shrubs,  and  vines,  and  a  large  proportion  of  the 
former  have  become  noble  trees.  Exclusive  of  the  reservoirs,  there  are  about  forty- 
three  acres  of  water,  divided  into  six  charming  lakes  and  ponds,  in  several  cases  these 
little  sheets  of  water  being  so  winding  and  irregular  that  rustic  bridges  are  thrown 
over  them.  Scattered  about  the  park  are  bronze  statues  or  busts  of  Burns,  Alexander 
Hamilton,  Fitz-Greene  Halleck,  Humboldt,  Mazzini,  Webster,  Shakespeare,  Schiller, 
Sir  Walter  Scott,  and  Morse ;  and  ideal  statues  symbolizing  Commerce,  the  Indian 
Hunter,  and  the  American  Soldier. 

Let  us  take  a  stroll  over  the  Mall,  which  is  the  grand  promenade,  extending  about 
the  third  of  a  mile  from  the  Marble  Arch  to  the  Terrace,  and  giving  an  excellent 
view  of  a  considerable  section  of  the  park.  Near  the  northern  end  is  the  music- 
stand  ;  and  on  Saturday  afternoons,  during  the  summer  months,  when  the  band  plays, 
it  is  almost  impassable,  except  by  moving  with  the  crowd.  Sunday  is,  however,  the 
great  gala-day,  for  then  the  poor  and  many  of  the  middle  classes  of  the  city  throng 
the  park  in  such  numbers  that  every  avenue  and  winding  path  is  full  of  people,  bent 
on  enjoyment.  The  Mall  is  arched  over  with  splendid  elms,  and  along  this  avenue 
are  ranged  most  of  the  bronze  statues  of  which  we  have  spoken.  A  pleasant  feature 
is  the  sight  of  the  children  in  the  goat-carriages,  from  mere  babies  to  well-grown 
youngsters,  who  enter  into  the  enjoyment  of  the  scene  with  more  zest  even  than  their 
elders.  At  the  northern  end  of  the  Mall,  leading  down  to  the  Esplanade  on  the  shore 
of  the  lake  and  containing  the  beautiful  Bethesda  fountain,  is  the  principal  architectu- 
ral feature  of  the  park,  known  as  the  Terrace.  It  is  constructed  of  a  fine,  soft  stone 
of  a  yellowish-brown  color,  and  the  central  stairway  goes  down  under  the  road,  where 
the  visitor  enters  an  arched-roofed  hall,  used  as  a  restaurant.  On  the  side-stairs  are 
beautifully  chiseled  carvings  of  birds,  fruits,  and  flowers  wrought  on  the  panels  of  the 
wall  and  along  the  base  of  the  balustrade.  The  Eamble  is  one  of  the  most  charming 
portions  of  the  park,  consisting  of  a  labyrinth  of  narrow  winding  paths,  abounding  in 
delightful  bits  of  scenery,  consisting  of  deep  thickets,  small  streams,  and  rustic 
bridges. 


THE  METROPOLIS  AND  ITS  EASTERN  SISTERS.  563 

Near  the  entrance  at  Sixty-fourth  Street,  on  the  east  or  Fifth  Avenue  side,  is  the 
Menagerie,  which  has  its  quarters  in  the  Old  Arsenal,  a  castellated  brick  building. 
There  are  good  in-door  and  out-door  collections  of  wild  animals — lions,  tigers,  pan- 
thers, wolves,  bears,  monkeys,  squirrels,  opossums,  kangaroos,  ostriches,  sea-lions,  camels, 
and  a  hundred  curious  birds  and  beasts.  In  the  Museum  of  Natural  History,  situ- 
ated between  Seventy-seventh  and  Eighty-first  Streets  and  Eighth  and  Ninth  Avenues, 
are  some  very  fine  collections  of  rare  birds,  animals,  and  insects.  In  the  aggregate, 
this  museum  is  one  of  the  largest  and  finest  in  the  country.  It  also  contains  a  me- 
teorological and  astronomical  observatory,  and  a  gallery  of  art.  A  great  attraction  of 
the  park  to  the  visitor  of  studious  and  artistic  taste  is  the  Metropolitan  Museum  of 
Art,  which  is  situated  on  the  Fifth  Avenue  side,  opposite  Eighty-third  Street.  The 
portion  erected,  which  is  only  one  of  a  projected  series  of  buildings,  is  two  hundred 
and  eighteen  feet  long  and  ninety-five  broad,  and  is  a  handsome  structure  of  red 
brick,  with  sandstone  trimmings,  in  the  Gothic  style.  The  notable  feature  of  this 
museum  is  the  Cesnola  collection  of  ancient  art  objects,  exhumed  in  Cyprus,  re- 
garded by  archaeologists  as  the  most  remarkable  of  its  kind  in  the  world.  There  are 
also  a  number  of  loan  collections  of  pottery,  paintings,  sculpture,  arms,  wood-carv- 
ings, etc.,  which  amply  reward  the  curiosity  of  the  student.  The  picture-gallery 
belonging  to  the  museum  contains  some  of  the  best  examples  of  the  old  Dutch, 
Flemish,  and  Spanish  masters  to  be  found  in  America.  This  museum  stands  within 
a  few  feet  of  the  East  Drive. 

Nothing  in  Central  Park  will  be  gazed  on  with  more  curiosity  and  interest,  how- 
ever, than  the  obelisk  which  was  presented  to  the  city  of  New  York  by  Ismail  Pasha, 
late  Khedive  of  Egypt,  and  brought  across  the  ocean  through  the  remarkable  engi- 
neering skill  of  Lieutenant-Commander  Gorringe,  United  States  Navy.  It  stands  on 
a  knoll  in  the  grounds  adjoining  the  Metropolitan  Museum,  and  occupies,  as  it  de- 
serves, one  of  the  most  commanding  situations  in  the  park.  This  monolith  carries  us 
back  to  a  period  more  than  fifteen  centuries  before  Christ,  and  it  is  probable  that 
Moses  gazed  at  it,  even  then  many  generations  old,  while  he  was  a  priest  at  the  city 
of  On,  or  Heliopolis.  According  to  the  hieroglyphical  writings  inscribed  on  its  side, 
it  was  made  at  the  order  of  Thothmes  III,  one  of  the  greatest  conquerors  among  the 
Egyptian  kings,  who  carried  his  arms  among  all  the  nations  of  the  East,  to  com- 
memorate his  victories.  This  is  one  of  two  obelisks  erected  at  Heliopolis,  the  city 
of  the  sun-god,  by  this  monarch.  Three  centuries  after  his  death,  vacant  spaces  on 
this  monolith  were  inscribed  by  order  of  Rameses  II,  who  appears  to  have  been  the 
Greek  Sesostris,  and  also  a  great  conqueror,  with  records  of  the  latter's  achievements. 
Under  the  Greek  dominion  of  the  Ptolemies,  this  wonderful  monument  of  the  most 
ancient  civilization  in  the  world  was  removed  from  its  time-honored  site  at  the  city 
of  On  to  Alexandria,  where  it  occupied  a  place  which  made  it  almost  the  first  object 
greeting  the  eye  of  the  voyager  on  entering  the  harbor.  When  Augustus  Caesar  and 
Mark  Antony  fought  their  tremendous  duel  under  the  very  eyes  of  the  beautiful  Cleo- 
patra, this  was  already  nearly  fifteen  hundred  years  old,  and  it  has  looked  down  un- 


564 


OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 


changed  on  all  the  warlike  convulsions,  "the  drums  and  tramplings  of  conquest  after 
conquest,"  which  have  swept  over  Egypt  in  successive  waves.  Of  the  different  Egyp- 
tian monuments  which  have  heen  removed  from  their  native  land  and  erected  in  for- 
eign countries,  including  those  in  Rome,  Paris,  and  London,  the  New  York  obelisk, 
known  as  Cleopatra's  Needle,  is  the  most  remarkable  and  historically  interesting,  as 
well  as  the  most  perfect  in  its  preservation.  The  by-stander  who  can  look  at  this 


Tht  Obelisk,  Central  /bri. 

dumb  but  eloquent  witness  of  nearly  thirty-five  centuries  of  the  world's   changes   and 
catastrophes  without  a  strange  thrill  must  indeed  be  lacking  in  imagination. 

Thus  much  space  has  been  devoted  to  some  of  the  characteristic  facts  and  scenes 
of  New  York  as  the  acknowledged  metropolis  of  the  country,  and  as  one  of  the  world's 
great  centers  of  civilization.  Its  position  as  the  leading  American  city  necessarily 
gives  it  a  representative  place,  and  causes  it  to  be  looked  upon  as  a  distinctive  type 
of  our  progress  and  our  material  development.  Other  cities  have  their  typical  features 
in  which  they  equal  or  surpass  New  York  in  interest,  but  in  the  sum  of  its  striking 


THE  METROPOLIS  AND  ITS  EASTERN  SISTERS.  565 

phases  the  latter  is  far  in  advance.  For  example  :  BOSTON,  the  capital  of  Massachu- 
setts, and  the  principal  city  of  New  England,  contests  with  New  York  the  dignity  of 
being  the  intellectual  capital  of  our  country.  Indeed,  as  the  home  of  men  distin- 
guished in  letters,  it  is  without  a  rival,  and  it  justly  plumes  itself  on  the  great  names 
which  are  associated  with  its  past  and  present.  This  is  perhaps  the  peculiar  distinc- 
tion of  Boston,  though  it  is  sad  to  reflect  that  death  is  swiftly  lessening  the  number 
of  the  brilliant  men  who  have  contributed  so  much  to  the  honor  of  American  letters. 
Boston,  too,  has  intertwined  with  its  past  many  of  the  most  pregnant  facts  in  our 
colonial  history,  as  the  center  of  those  Puritan  influences  which  have  done  so  much 
to  mold  the  character  of  the  people  and  advance  our  mental  and  material  greatness. 

This  city  is  situated  at  the  western  extremity  of  Massachusetts  Bay,  and  is  the 
seventh  city  of  the  country  in  size,  the  population  by  the  last  census  being  362,535 
souls.  The  city  embraces  Boston  proper,  East  Boston,  South  Boston,  Roxbury, 
Charlestown,  Brighton,  and  Dorchester.  It  is  connected  with  Charlestown  by  the 
Charles  River  Bridge  and  with  the  city  of  Cambridge  by  the  West  Boston  Bridge. 
No  city  in  the  country  is  so  noted  for  the  beauty  of  its  suburbs,  which  embrace  the 
cities  of  Chelsea,  Somerville,  and  Cambridge,  and  the  towns  of  Revere,  Brookline,  and 
others,  all  of  which  contain  many  splendid  residences,  the  homes  of  persons  doing 
business  in  Boston. 

The  first  settlement  of  Boston  was  made  in  1630  by  a  portion  of  the  company 
which  came  over  with  John  Winthrop  from  England  that  year.  The  Indians  had 
called  the  peninsula  on  which  Boston  stands  Shawmut,  or  "Sweet  Waters,"  on  account 
of  the  purity  of  the  bubbling  springs.  The  Puritans  at  first  named  it  Trimountain, 
but  afterward  changed  the  title  to  Boston,  from  that  old  city  of  the  Lincolnshire 
Fens,  England,  to  which  the  hearts  of  the  exiles  reverted  with  homesick  longings. 
Thus  began  to  exist  Boston  with  its  teeming  memories,  its  dramatic  history,  its  many 
picturesque  and  romantic  aspects.  No  one  now  approaching  the  city  from  the  bay  can 
distinguish  the  three  hills  on  which  Winthrop  and  his  followers  perched  themselves. 
Boston  wears  the  aspect  of  a  broad  flat  cone,  with  a  wide  base  lining  the  water's  edge 
for  miles  on  either  side,  ascending  by  a  gradual  plane  to  the  apex  afforded  by  the 
State-House.  Probably  no  city  in  the  country  is  so  irregular  in  its  details,  though 
the  crookedness  and  confusion  of  the  streets  of  the  old  city  have  been  somewhat  recti- 
fied by  the  rebuilding  of  that  portion  which  was  destroyed  in  the  great  fire  of  1872. 
The  current  tradition  is,  that  the  streets  of  old  Boston  were  built  according  to  the 
tracks  of  the  ancient  cow-paths,  made  by  the  cattle  of  the  early  colonists  in  going  to 
and  from  the  watering-places. 

To  give  even  an  outline  of  the  very  interesting  colonial  history  of  Boston  would 
consume  many  pages,  and  require  more  space  than  can  be  given  for  such  a  purpose, 
but  a  brief  glance  at  some  notable  events  can  hardly  be  avoided.  From  the  very 
first  Boston  was  the  theatre  of  fierce  religious  dissension,  and  the  people  showed, 
even  in  early  times,  a  most  resolute  front  against  royal  authority.  When  the  English 
rose  against  James  II  at  home,  Boston  threw  over  the  royal  government  and  set  up  a 


566 


OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 


new  one.  The  first  witch  hung  in  New  England,  about-  forty  years  before  the  Salem 
witchcraft  delusion,  was  no  less  a  personage  than  the  sister  of  Governor  Bellingham. 
who  is  introduced  in  Hawthorne's  romance  of  "  The  Scarlet  Letter,"  and  she  was  a 
sacrifice  to  Boston  superstition.  Religious  and  political  affairs  were  so  intermixed 
that  the  clergy  practically  ruled  the  colony.  During  King  Philip's  War,  in  1675, 
Indian  scalps  were  first  brought  to  Boston  as  trophies,  and  it  is  said  that  Boston 
suffered  losses  five  times  greater  than  any  other  place  in  the  colony.  A  printing- 
press  was  established  in  1676  by  a  graduate  of  Harvard  College,  and  the  first  books 
printed  in  New  England  were  histories  of  the  Indian  war,  by  Hubbard  and  Mather. 
In  1679  a  fire  occurred,  destroying  eighty  dwellings  and  seventy-nine  warehouses, 
involving  a  loss  of  two  hundred  thousand  pounds  sterling,  which  gives  some  idea  of 
the  growth  of  Boston  at  this  period.  In  1720  the  linen  manufacture  was  introduced 


View  of  Boston  from  the  Utirlxtr. 

by  some  Scotch-Irish  settlers,  and  throve  wonderfully.  This  was  the  beginning  of 
the  great  manufacturing  interest  in  the  textile  fabrics  which  has  made  Boston  and  its 
vicinity  so  important.  A  tremendous  riot  occurred  in  1747,  owing  to  the  impressment 
of  citizens  by  Commodore  Knowles,  a  naval  commander,  for  the  stubborn  Puritan 
spirit  was  always  alert  against  infringement  of  its  rights.  Eight  years  later,  and  sev- 
enteen days  after  the  great  earthquake  at  Lisbon,  Boston  was  dreadfully  shaken  by  the 
severest  earthquake  ever  felt  in  New  England.  In  1761  came  the  first  rumblings  of 
the  American  Revolution  in  the  "writs  of  assistance"  which  were  tried  in  Boston. 
At  the  first  news  of  the  intention  of  England  to  apply  her  revenue  system  to  the 
colonies,  Boston  made  a  fierce  stand.  Then  came,  a  few  years  afterward,  the  Boston 
massacre  of  1770  and  the  destruction  of  the  tea  in  1773.  Events  crowded  fast  on 
one  another,  and  in  1775  about  four  thousand  British  troops  and  several  armed  vessels 


THE  METROPOLIS  AND  ITS  EASTERN  SISTERS.  567 

had  collected  there.  It  was  not  long  before  the  battles  of  Lexington  and  Bunker  Hill 
Bet  all  the  colonies  in  an  unquenchable  flame  of  rebellion,  and  so  was  begun  that  war 
which  added  a  new  and  great  nation  to  the  peoples  of  the  world.  Boston  may  indeed 
be  proud  of  the  part  which  she  took  in  the  matter,  for  her  citizens  did  more  than 
any  others  in  the  country  to  fan  the  first  sparks  of  resistance  into  active  and  enduring 
life.  Faneuil  Hall,  known  as  the  "  Cradle  of  Liberty,"  and  other  historic  buildings, 
are  still  preserved  with  the  most  scrupulous  care. 

•  The  approach  to  Boston  by  water  shows  many  natural  beauties,  which  have  been 
heightened  by  artificial  adornment.  The  narrow  harbor  curves  on  either  side,  and  is 
dotted  with  islands.  Long  stretches  of  beach  are  alternated  with  steep  jutting  prom- 
ontories, until  the  coast  of  the  bay  finally  vanishes  into  the  thickly  settled  suburbs 
and  the  city  itself.  The  islands  are  crowned  with  fine  forts,  light-houses,  hospitals, 
almshouses,  and  other  public  institutions,  and  fill  a  pleasing  part  in  the  landscape. 
Port  Warren  and  Fort  Independence,  with  their  lofty  ramparts  and  deep-green  em- 
bankments, stand  among  the  most  important  fortresses  in  the  country.  A  glance  at 
the  Boston  shipping,  while  it  does  not  reveal*  the  forest  of  masts  and  funnels  which 
enliven  the  port  of  New  York,  gives  evidence  of  a  busy  commerce.  One  characteristic 
of  the  view  is  observed  in  the  multitude  of  many-windowed  factories,  and  tall,  smoke- 
stained  chimneys,  which  indicate  the  weaving  of  textile  fabrics,  the  fruits  of  skilled 
handiwork,  and  the  manipulation  of  the  metals.  The  total  value  of  the  commerce 
for  the  year  ending  January  1,  1880,  was  $103,679,935,  the  imports  being  $48,552,309, 
and  the  exports  $55,127,626.  Boston  then  had  3,521  manufacturing  establishments, 
in  which  was  invested  $42,750,134,  and  out  of  which  came  a  product  of  $123.366,137. 
The  total  arrivals  and  departures  at  the  port  were  16,225. 

By  passing  from  the  eastern  to  the  western  side  of  the  city,  we  observe  the  results 
instead  of  the  processes  of  industry.  Ascending  some  point  of  vantage,  like  a  church- 
steeple,  the  beholder  looks  out  on  a  striking  scene  of  brightness,  beauty,  and  luxury, 
where  all  the  gifts  of  nature  in  elevation,  declivity,  and  outline,  have  been  enriched 
'  by  artifice.  In  the  foreground  lies  the  Public  Garden,  a  gem  of  a  park,  adorned 
with  thriving  trees,  lawns,  flower-beds,  fountains,  statues,  etc.  Beyond  it,  almost 
hidden  in  the  foliage,  is  the  Common,  rising  by  a  graceful  plane  to  the  State-House 
at  its  summit,  here  and  there  interspersed  with  hillocks,  whose  sides  peep  through 
openings  in  the  trees,  and  at  whose  base  are  broad,  open  levels,  for  military  manoauvres 
and  out-door  games.  Behind  the  Common  you  catch  glimpses  of  the  steeples  and 
public  buildings  of  Tremont  Street  ;  the  historic  steeples  of  Old  South  and  Park 
Street  Church  ;  the  United  States  buildings  and  the  magnificent  Masonic  Temple. 
On  the  left  is  Beacon  Street,  its  buildings  piled  irregularly  one  above  another,  of 
brick,  brown-stone,  and  marble,  and  of  the  greatest  diversity  of  color  and  form. 
This  is  the  street  of  the  family  and  moneyed  aristocracy  of  Boston.  Dear  to  every 
resident  of  Boston  is  the  historic  Common,  around  which  cluster  so  many  colonial 
memories.  Here  the  Puritan  cows  fed,  and  the  Puritan  train-bands  drilled  ;  here 
witches  were  hung,  and  women  with  scarlet  letters  stitched  on  their  gowns  expiated 


568 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


their  shame  before  the  stern  colonists ;  here  were  fierce  tussles  with  Indians,  and  here 
many  a  Puritan  gallant  crossed  sword-blade  with  his  rival  ;  here  George  Whitefield 
poured  out  his  melting  eloquence,  and  the  old  magistrates  in  their  starched  ruffles  held 
high  festival ;  here,  in  later  times,  the  patriots  hung  their  red-coat  foes  in  effigy ;  and 
here,  according  to  the  old  chronicler,  was  the  spot  "where  the  gallants,  a  little  before 
sunset,  walk  with  their  Marmalet  Madams  till  the  bell  at  nine-o-clock  rings  them 
home." 

The  Common  has  been  for  more  than  two  centuries  the  great  promenade  for 
Boston,  the  trysting-place  of  lovers,  the  play-ground  of  the  children.  It  consists  of 
about  fifty  acres,  and  is  surrounded  on  all  sides  by  stately  squares  of  houses.  It  is 


Public  Garden,  Boston. 

of  great  natural  beauty,  and  its  noble  elms,  some  of  which  are  two  centuries  old,  rise 
to  a  great  height  and  form  grand  natural  arches,  while  the  turf  is  as  soft  and  thick 
as  the  nap  of  the  costliest  carpet.  It  sweeps  down  the  slope  of  the  hill,  on  the  edge 
of  which  is  Beacon  Street,  and  reaches  its  southern  limit  at  Boylston  Street.  The 
effects  of  the  foliage  and  grass  in  this  charming  little  park  can  not  be  surpassed 
anywhere,  and  the  maze  of  irregular  shaded  avenues  is  very  picturesque.  Memorials 
of  its  age  and  teeming  history  everywhere  abound.  In  one  corner  is  a  hoary  old 
grave-yard  with  weather-stained,  broken  tombstones,  and  imbedded  vaults,  whose 
padlocks  are  rusted.  Hard  by  the  Frog-Pond,  the  lakelet  in  the  Park,  the  "Great 
Elm,"  a  remarkable  landmark,  stood  till  1876,  when  it  was  blown  down.  This  tree 
was  said  to  have  antedated  the  settlement  of  the  city.  An  iron  railing  protected  it. 


THE  METROPOLIS  AND  ITS  EASTERN  SISTERS.  569 

and  an  inscription  told  of  its  venerable  age,  its  historic  interest,  and  its  perils  by 
wind  and  storm.  This  grand  old  tree  was  nearly  twenty-two  feet  in  circumference, 
and  more  than  seventy  feet  high,  while  the  spread  of  its  branches  was  eighty-six  feet. 
On  Flagstaff  Hill,  overlooking  the  Pond,  is  the  costly  Soldiers'  Monument,  ninety 
feet  high,  with  four  statues  of  heroic  size  at  the  base,  and  surmounted  by  a  colossal 
figure  of  America,  standing  on  a  hemisphere  and  guarded  by  four  eagles  with  out- 
spread wings.  Near  Park  Street  is  the  beautiful  Brewer  Fountain,  of  bronze,  cast  in 
Paris,  and  adorned  with  statues.  West  of  the  Common,  on  the  Charles  River,  is 
what  is  known  as  the  Back  Bay,  ground  reclaimed  from  swamp  within  the  last  two- 
score  years.  This  is  a  quarter  of  elegance,  luxury,  and  taste,  where  the  wealth  of 
this  generation  has  built  many  of  the  most  splendid  residences  and  other  structures 
to  be  seen  in  Boston,  though  it  lacks  the  historic  dignity  and  sedateness  of  other 
quarters.  This  region  stretches  for  about  two  miles  back  from  Beacon  Street  to  Rox- 
bury,  and  may  be  called  the  Fifth  Avenue  portion  of  Boston,  which  it  resembles  in 
lavish  elegance.  Stately  without  being  cheerless,  new  but  not  glaring,  the  substan- 
tial New  England  character  is  impressed  on  its  solid  and  graceful  blocks,  its  broad, 
airy  streets  and  squares.  A  quarter  much  affected  by  the  staid  old  families,  the  blue 
blood  descended  from  the  Mayflower  pilgrims,  is  the  Beacon  Hill  district,  and  such 
streets  as  Charles,  Mount  Vernon,  Chestnut,  and  Louisburg  Square.  These  are  shaded 
by  noble  elms,  and  the  houses  have  a  look  of  old-fashioned  elegance  and  solidity. 

Not  far  from  this  tranquil  and  aristocratic  neighborhood  you  find  the  business 
quarter  begins.  You  only  go  down  the  slope  of  the  hill  to  be  sucked  in  the  tide  of 
trade  that  rushes  through  Tremont  Street,  and  find  yourself  in  the  midst  of  official, 
commercial,  and  historic  Boston.  Tremont,  Winter,  and  Washington  Streets  are  the 
main  thoroughfares  for  retail  business,  State  Street  the  financial  center,  and  in  Pearl, 
Franklin,  Chauncey,  and  Sumner  Streets  are  many  of  the  great  wholesale  establish- 
ments. Between  Tremont  Street  and  the  bay  are  many  of  the  memorable  spots  and 
edifices  around  which  cluster  associations  of  the  most  noteworthy  events  in  Boston 
history,  as  well  as  the  most  important  public  buildings.  The  historic  relics  are  found 
scattered  over  the  northern  and  eastern  end  of  the  peninsula,  but  the  tortuous  region 
at  the  head  of  State  Street  and  the  northern  limit  is  the  most  thickly  studded  with 
memorable  spots  and  buildings.  Among  these  old  structures  redolent  of  the  past  are 
King's  Chapel ;  Old  South  Church,  which  Burgoyne  turned  into  a  cavalry-school  for 
his  troopers ;  the  Old  State-House,  which  looks  down  sedately  on  the  haunts  of  the 
brokers  and  money-changers  ;  and  Faneuil  Hall,  where  the  Boston  burghers  were  first 
roused  to  icsistance  against  the  exactions  of  the  crown.  Faneuil  Hall  is  a  large, 
square,  venerable-looking  building,  and  is  still  used  for  the  original  purposes,  as  a 
market-place  beneath,  and  for  public  assemblages  above.  In  the  great  public  hall, 
which  has  resounded  to  the  eloquence  of  our  great  men  from  the  time  of  Harrison 
Gray  Otis  and  Samuel  Adams  down  to  our  own  day,  are  hung  a  large  number  of 
valuable  portraits  of  much  historic  interest. 

The  suburbs  of  Boston   are  unequaled   among  American  cities,  and  among   these 


570 


OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 


Brooklinc  is  perhaps  the 
most  beautiful.  The  am- 
phitheatre of  hills,  in  which 
the  peninsula  is  set  as  in  a 
frame,  is  circular,  and  is  so 
undulating  and  irregular  as 
to  furnish  the  most  pictur- 
esque opportunities  for  tine 
effects  in  landscape-garden- 
ing, which  suburban  resi- 
dents have  improved  to  the 
utmost.  Nature  has  most 
richly  endowed  this  series 
of  hills,  for  it  consists  of 
circles  of  uneven  elevations 
one  without  the  other  ;  and 
from  many  of  the  farther 
summits  the  city,  with  the 
yellow  dome  and  glittering 
cupola  of  the  State-House 
at  the  apex,  may  be  seen 
through  its  extent,  inclosed 
in  a  magnificent  framework 
of  foliage.  The  view  is  spe- 
cially striking  from  Mount 
Warren,  where  General  AYar- 
ren  is  buried,  Mount  Hope, 
Mount  Dearborn,  and  Mount 
Bowdoin,  the  latter  of  which 
stands  just  south  of  the  old 
town  of  Roxbury.  All  the 
suburbs  are  fairly  bedded 
in  foliage,  many  old  forest- 
trees,  as  well  as  many  due 
to  careful  cultivation.  The 
arts  of  lawn  and  hedge  cult- 
ure, and  of  garden  decora- 
tion, have  been  most  suc- 
cessfully prosecuted.  In  the 
midst  of  large  areas  of  lawn 
and  copse  you  will  see  now 
square,  old-fashioned,  slop- 


TllK  METROPOLIS  AND   ITS  EASTERN  SISTERS.  571 

ing-roofed  mansions  of  a  century  since ;  now  modern  and  fanciful  residences  with 
French  roofs  and  towers,  and  an  amplitude  of  verandas — but  all  of  them  admirably 
kept.  There  are  some  estates  in  these  suburbs  which  would  not  shame  an  English 
noble  whose  ancestral  halls  had  come  down  to  him  from  the  Conquest,  with  their 
roods  of  hedge,  broad  avenues  passing  a  half-mile  through  a  park  before  reaching  the 
house,  their  large  conservatories  and  cottages,  their  close-cut  terraces  and  blooming 
gardens.  Any  of  the  suburbs  of  Boston  may  be  reached  in  half  an  hour  by  rail  from 
the  heart  of  the  city — a  peculiar  advantage  which,  aside  from  their  natural  beauty, 
makes  them  eminently  desirable  as  places  of  residence.  At  Charlestown  is  the  Bun- 
ker Hill  Monument,  occupying  the  site  of  the  old  redoubt  on  Breed's  Hill,  and 
commemorative  of  the  eventful  battle  fought  on  June  17,  1775.  This  is  a  massive 
obelisk  of  Quincy  granite  two  hundred  and  twenty-five  feet  high,  from  the  observa- 
tory at  whose  height  is  obtained  a  splendid  view  of  Boston  and  the  environs.  The 
monument  was  dedicated  in  1843,  and  on  this  occasion  Daniel  Webster  made  the 
greatest  of  his  orations.  Near  by  is  a  fine  statue  of  General  Warren,  who  was  killed 
on  the  spot. 

That  suburb,  however,  which  will  recall  the  most  interesting  associations,  is  the  city 
of  Cambridge,  the  seat  of  Harvard  College  and  the  home  at  different  times  of  many 
of  the  men  who  have  most  distinguished  themselves  in  American  letters.  It  wears  the 
same  aspect  of  umbrageous  beauty,  spacious  streets,  and  fine  residences  characteristic 
of  the  other  suburban  places.  Harvard  University  stands  in  its  center  in  a  shady  park, 
and  its  various  edifices  are  grouped  without  any  apparent  order.  This  is  the  oldest 
and  most  richly  endowed  institution  in  the  United  States.  It  was  founded  in  1638, 
by  the  Rev.  John  Harvard,  and  now  consists  of  fifteen  buildings,  from  two  to  five 
stories  in  height,  with  an  average  attendance  in  all  its  departments  of  fifteen  hundred 
students,  to  whom  there  are  two  hundred  and  twenty  instructors.  The  college-yard 
is  about  fifteen  acres,  thickly  shaded  with  large  elms,  though  there  are  about  sixty 
acres  of  ground  belonging  to  the  university  in  Cambridge.  One  of  the  notable  places 
in  Cambridge  is  the  Longfellow  home,  memorable  as  having  been  the  headquarters  of 
General  Washington  during  the  siege  of  Boston,  as  well  as  the  life-long  home  of  the 
most  honored  of  our  poets.  It  is  a  large  square  wooden  mansion  with  a  veranda, 
under  wide-spreading  elms,  on  one  side,  a  garden  behind,  and  an  extensive  lawn  in 
front.  A  little  farther  on  is  "  Elmwood,"  the  ancestral  home  of  the  poet  Lowell, 
which  is  also  an  old  Revolutionary  relic.  Among  the  historic  mementos  is  the 
Washington  Elm,  thought  to  be  three  hundred  years  old.  under  whose  branching 
foliage  Washington  stood  when  he  formally  took  command  of  the  colonial  army  in 
1775. 

The  visitor  to  Boston,  after  having  experienced  the  feverish  energy  and  movement 
of  New  York,  is  conscious  of  a  certain  leisure  and  sedateness  of  manner  in  the  people, 
a  certain  calm  satisfaction  in  themselves  and  in  their  own  ways,  which,  though  it 
may  suggest  a  tincture  of  provincial  spirit,  is  not  without  a  great  charm  of  its  own. 
Something,  too,  of  a  similar  atmosphere  is  observable  in  the  Quaker  City,  though  the 


572 


OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 


latter  has  a  very  distinct   physiognomy  of   its   own.      Philadelphia,  it   may  be  said,  is 
only  less  notable  for  its  wealth  of  Revolutionary  memories  than  Boston. 

PHILADELPAIA  is  the  largest  city  in  the  country  in  area  and  the  second  largest  in 
population.     It  lies  between  the  Delaware  and  Schuylkill  Rivers,  six  miles  above  their 


junction,  and  ninety-six  miles  from  the  Atlantic  Ocean.  The  city  is  twenty-two  miles 
long  from  north  to  south,  and  from  five  to  eight  miles  wide,  the  total  area  being  a 
little  more  than  one  hundred  and  twenty-two  square  miles,  within  which  there  aro  three 


THE  METROPOLIS  AND  ITS  EASTERN  SISTERS.  573 

hundred  and  fifty  miles  of  paved  streets  and  more  buildings  than  any  other  city  in 
the  country.  It  is  the  only  great  city  in  our  midst  where  the  thrifty  artisan  can  ac- 
quire the  ownership  of  his  own  home.  This  is  owing  to  the  cheapness  of  city-lots,  and 
a  peculiar  system  of  building  associations,  which  enable  the  poor  man  to  have  a  house 
erected  for  him,  and  which  give  him  the  privilege  of  paying  for  it  by  installments. 

This  city  was  founded  in  1682  by  William  Penn,  who  brought  over  a  colony  of 
Quakers  and  purchased  the  site  from  the  Indians.  Immigration  was  so  rapid  that  in 
two  years  the  new  city  had  twenty-five  hundred  souls.  Philadelphia  prospered  so 
greatly  that  it  was  the  most  important  city  in  the  country  during  the  colonial  period 
and  for  a  quarter  of  a  century  after  the  Revolution.  The  first  Continental  Congress 
assembled  here  (in  1774),  as  did  all  the  subsequent  congresses  during  the  war.  It  was 
in  Philadelphia  that  the  Declaration  of  Independence  was  made  and  issued,  and  here 
that  the  convention  assembled  which  formed  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States  in 
1787.  It  continued  the  seat  of  the  government  of  the  country  till  1800,  when  it  was 
transferred  to  New  York,  where  Congress  had  its  seat  till  the  establishment  of  the 
national  capital  at  Washington.  The  population,  which  in  1800  was  41,220,  had 
increased  to  121,376  in  1850,  to  565,529  in  1860,  and  in  1880  the  census  returns  gave 
847,170.  The  commerce  of  Philadelphia  is  large  and  increasing,  but  manufactures  are 
its  chief  source  of  wealth,  and  in  these,  according  to  the  census  of  1880,  it  is  the 
second  city  of  the  Union,  New  York  alone  surpassing  it.  According  to  the  last 
returns  the  number  of  establishments  was  8,377,  representing  an  investment  of 
$170,495,191  in  capital.  In  its  proportion  of  heavy  manufacturing  it  probably  ranks 
next  to  Pittsburgh.  The  products  of  the  year  1880  were  valued  at  $304,591,725.  The 
leading  industries  are  the  manufacture  of  locomotives  and  all  kinds  of  iron-ware, 
ships,  woolen  and  cotton  goods,  shoes,  umbrellas,  and  books.  In  commerce  Philadel- 
phia ranks  fourth  among  the  cities  of  the  United  States. 

There  are  but  few  historical  monuments  left  standing  in  Philadelphia.  The  vener- 
able Christ  Church  in  Second  Street  was  built  in  1727,  and,  though  now  hemmed  in 
by  prosaic  brick  and  mortar,  it  is  well  worth  a  visit,  as  it  is  a  stately  and  beautiful 
memento  of  the  colonial  age.  Independence  Hall,  erected  as  a  State-House  in  1729,  is 
in  Chestnut  Street,  and  to  this  the  patriotic  pilgrim  will  turn  with  peculiar  interest, 
for  here  was  the  Declaration  of  Independence  adopted. 

The  room  in  which  this  famous  event  occurred  presents  the  same  appearance  now 
as  it  did  at  that  time  ;  the  furniture  is  that  used  by  Congress ;  and  there  are  a  statue 
of  Washington  and  numerous  portraits  and  pictures.  The  west  room  is  a  depository 
of  many  curious  Revolutionary  relics.  In  it  is  preserved  the  old  "  Liberty  Bell,"  the 
first  bell  rung  in  the  United  States  after  the  passage  of  the  Declaration.  In  Congress 
Hall,  in  the  second  story,  Washington  delivered  his  farewell  address.  In  Carpenter's 
Hall,  a  few  blocks  below  on  the  same  street,  assembled  the  first  Congress  of  the  United 
Colonies  in  1774.  Both  these  buildings  are  most  carefully  preserved. 

Philadelphia,  from  the  plan  on  which  it  is  laid  out,  may  be  the  most  comfortable 
and  convenient  of  cities,  but  its  streets  uniformly  crossing  each  other  at  right  angles 


574 


OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 


certainly  lack  the 
picturesque  element. 
There  are,  however, 
on  these  stiff  and  nar- 
row thoroughfares  a 
great  number  of  no- 
ble edifices,  public 
and  private,  temples 
of  charity,  religion, 
industry,  and  art, 
which  go  far  to  re- 
deem the  monotony 
of  the  streets.  The 
great  business  thor- 
oughfare is  Market 
Street,  and  here  the 
bulk  of  the  whole- 
sale traffic,  both  for- 
eign and  domestic, 
is  transacted.  The 
retail  business  of  the 
city  is  mostly  con- 
centrated on  Chest- 
nut. Arch,  and  Wal- 
nut Streets.  The 
handsome  private  re- 
sidences are  in  the 
west  and  northwest- 
ern parts  of  the  city. 
West  Philadelphia, 
across  the  Schuyl- 
kill,  is  full  of  ele- 
gant and  tasteful  vil- 
las, and  the  west- 
ern portions  of  Wal- 
nut, Chestnut,  Arch, 
Spruce,  and  Pine 
Streets  are  occupied 
1  iy  many  splendid 
residences  ;  while 
Broad  Street  is  a 
spacious  boulevard 


Trwer,  hdeptiidtncf  Hall,  I'IM 


THE  METROPOLIS  AND  ITS  EASTERN  SISTERS.  575 

miming  for  miles  between  the  dwellings  of  the  wealthy,  which  are  in  many  instances 
adorned  by  elaborate  lawns  and  gardens.  A  characteristic  of  most  of  the  residence 
streets  in  Philadelphia,  except  those  portions  which  have  been  taken  possession  of  by 
the  rich  and  rebuilt  in  a  later  style,  is  the  primness  of  the  architecture.  The  houses 
are  square  and  plain,  built  of  red  brick  with  white-marble  door-steps  and  trimmings. 
This  gives  a  very  peculiar  aspect  to  Philadelphia,  that  separates  it  from  all  other 
c-ities  except  Baltimore,  which  to  some  extent  shares  the  same  architectural  appearance. 

The  numerous  squares  of  shade  and  greenery,  laid  out  according  to  the  original 
plan  of  Penn,  are  a  wholesome  feature  of  the  city.  These  are  ornamented  with  state- 
ly trees,  many  of  which  were  denizens  of  the  primeval  forest,  that  existed  before  the 
arrival  of  the  Quaker  immigrants,  and  drinking-fountains  in  their  midst  complete  the 
picture  of  coolness  and  refreshment  in  contrast  with  the  glare  and  warmth  of  the 
streets.  It  is  without  the  purpose  of  these  descriptions  of  cities  to  make  special 
allusion  to  notable  buildings  aside  from  those  of  historic  or  national  interest,  but  it 
is  worth  while  to  say  a  word  about  two  or  three  public  institutions  of  the  city.  The 
careful  attention  given  to  art  and  science  has  resulted  in  the  building  of  the  Academy 
of  Natural  Sciences  and  the  Academy  of  Fine  Arts,  both  edifices  of  great  size  and 
architectural  beauty,  which  are  among  the  finest  in  the  United  States  of  their  kind. 
The  Masonic  Temple  is  an  immense  structure  with  a  tower  two  hundred  and  thirty 
feet  high,  and  within  the  building  there  are  halls  finished  in  all  the  different  styles 
of  architecture.  Girard  College  is  a  celebrated  edifice  founded  by  Stephen  Girard,  a 
French  merchant,  who  died  in  1831,  and  bequeathed  $2,000,000  to  found  an  institu- 
tion for  the  gratuitous  instruction  and  maintenance  of  orphans,  and  left  the  rest  of 
his  estate  to  support  the  college,  a  fund  now  amounting  to  $7,000,000.  From  the 
roof  of  this  huge  white-marble  structure  may  be  had  a  very  fine  view  of  Philadelphia, 
as  the  site  is  on  the  summit  of  a  slope. 

The  commerce  and  shipping  of  Philadelphia  may  be  viewed '  in  their  most  pictur- 
esque aspects  on  the  wharves  of  the  Delaware  River.  The  water  of  the  river  has 
such  breadth  and  depth  as  to  move  like  an  arm  of  the  sea  rather  than  a  river,  and 
here  the  largest  vessels  come  without  difficulty.  But,  if  the  Delaware  is  the  source 
of  commercial  prosperity  to  the  city,  the  Schuylkill  offers  to  its  people  their  most 
charming  out-door  pleasures.  The  attractions  of  this  river  begin  at  Fairmount,  the 
seat  of  the  Water-Works,  which  for  many  years  have  been  one  of  the  recognized 
"sights"  of  the  city.  Twenty-five  years  ago  Fairmount  meant  only  the  buildings  in 
which  the  machinery  used  in  supplying  the  city  with  water  is  inclosed  and  the  little 
pleasure-ground  lying  near  it.  Now  the  vast  stretch  of  Fairmount  Park  is  included 
in  the  term.  This  grand  park  in  its  entire  extent  comprises  four  thousand  acres,  and 
is  by  far  the  most  extensive  pleasure-ground  in  the  country.  It  lies  on  both  sides  of 
the  Schuylkill,  and  the  two  sections  are  connected  by  bridges.  The  park  was  gradu- 
ally formed  through  the  purchase  by  the  city  of  several  very  elegant  and  well-culti- 
vated estates.  Not  only  did  these  acquisitions  offer  ample  room  for  one  of  the  finest 
parks  in  the  world,  but  the  striking  natural  advantages  were  enhanced  by  the  fact  that 


576 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 


THE  METROPOLIS  AND  ITS  EASTERN  SISTERS. 


577 


these  country-seats  were  all  richly  improved.  The  ancestral  trees  were  large  and  an- 
cient, and  the  grounds  were  laid  out  with  all  the  taste  of  the  best  landscape-garden- 
ing. So  the  authorities  had  only  to  combine  a  number  of  pleasure-grounds  already 


View  on  the  tjchuylkitt. 


existing  and  invite  the  citizens  to  the  enjoyment  of  one  of  the  most  delightful  of 
out-door  resorts.  The  quiet  nooks,  the  charming  retreats,  and  perfect  bits  of  wood- 
land scenery  in  Fairmount  Park  are  innumerable,  the  windings  of  the  river  affording 


37 


578  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

a  constant  variety  of  effects  to  the  eye.  In  the  West  Park  stood  the  buildings  of  the 
International  Exhibition  of  1876,  most  of  which  have  since  been  removed.  The  hun- 
dreds of  thousands  of  visitors  will  long  remember  the  sylvan  loveliness  with  which 
they  were  then  made  acquainted.  In  the  upper  portion  of  Fairmount  Park  is  the 
very  picturesque  Wissahickon  River,  which  winds  between  steep  and  richly  wooded 
banks,  and  has  all  the  wildness  of  a  stream  far  from  the  haunts  of  men.  A  wide 
carriage-road  runs  along  the  bank,  and  is  a  favorite  drive  for  Philadelphians,  the  river 
dancing  along  on  one  side  and  rocky  steeps  with  overhanging  shrubbery  bordering  the 
other.  Philadelphia  may  justly  be  proud  of  her  beautiful  park,  which  possibly  one 
day,  when  it  shall  have  been  more  perfectly  ordered,  will  be  among  the  two  or  three 
most  remarkable  onss  in  the  world. 

The  resemblance  between  many  external  aspects  of  Philadelphia  and  BALTIMORE 
will  impress  the  visitor  strongly.  The  appearance  of  the  houses  is  in  large  degree 
nearly  identical,  and  the  characteristics  of  the  people  in  both  cities  are  quite  similar. 
The  old-fashioned  quiet  methods  of  the  past  seem  to  rule  both  in  business  and  social 
life.  In  both  cities  there  is  a  very  large  well-to-do  middle  class  who  live  simply,  com- 
fortably, and  without  pretense ;  and  there  is  also  the  sharply  defined  residue  of  an  old 
colonial  aristocracy,,  which  forms  something  as  nearly  an  hereditary  social  caste  as  is 
possible  under  our  institutions.  The  existence  of  a  large  and  influential  moneyed 
class,  the  members  of  which  have  arisen  from  obscurity  and  exercise  a  predominant 
influence,  is  less  observable  in  Philadelphia  and  Baltimore  than  in  any  other  promi- 
nent American  cities,  if  we  except  New  Orleans  and  St.  Louis. 

Baltimore,  the  chief  city  of  Maryland,  and  in  population  and  commerce  one  of  the 
most  important  in  the  United  States,  is  picturesquely  located  on  the  north  branch  of 
the  Patapsco  River,  fourteen  miles  from  its  entrance  into  the  Chesapeake  Bay,  and 
about  two  hundred  miles  from  the  Atlantic.  The  city  embraces  an  area  of  about 
twelve  square  miles,  nearly  half  of  which  is  built  on.  A  small  stream  called  Jones's 
Falls,  running  north  and  south,  and  spanned  by  numerous  bridges,  divides  the  city 
into  two  nearly  equal  parts. 

The  site  of  Baltimore  was  selected  in  1729,  though  the  present  name,  in  honor  of 
Lord  Baltimore,  the  lord  proprietor  of  Maryland,  was  not  given  till  a  subsequent 
period.  Prosperous  settlements  had  grown  on  both  sides  of  the  falls,  and  were  called 
Jonestown.  The  place  thrived  marvelously,  and  a  great  business  in  tobacco,  the 
grinding  of  flour,  tanning,  etc.,  brought  no  little  wealth  to  the  town.  So  in  1745  the 
old  prosaic  title  was  discarded  for  the  more  stately  name  by  which  the  city  is  now 
known.  The  masterly  portrait  of  Lord  Baltimore  by  Vandyck,  now  in  Washington, 
shows  that  the  growing  town  honored  itself  in  selecting  such  a  sponsor,  for  a  nobler 
figure  of  a  man,  soldier,  and  courtier  can  not  be  imagined.  There  was  indeed  pro- 
priety in  the  choice.  The  English  ideas  and  methods  long  prevailed  in  Baltimore, 
and  in  the  society  of  the  aristocrats  of  the  colony  the  first  lord  proprietor  of  Mary- 
land would  have  found  congenial  spirits.  Even  to-day  the  old-fashioned  courtesy  and 
punctilio  are  not  altogether  gone.  Baltimore  has  never  lost  its  reputation  for  the 


THE  METROPOLIS  AND  ITS  EASTERN  SISTERS. 


579 


beauty  and  attractiveness  of  its 
women,  nor  for  the  hospitality 
and  frank  cordiality  of  the  homos 
which  they  grace. 

In  1780  the  city  became  a 
port  of  entry,  and  in  1797  it  re- 
ceived a  regular  charter.  At  this 
time  the  population  amounted  to 
twenty-six  thousand,  and  in  1812 
this  had  increased  to  forty  thou- 
sand. A  traveler  who  visited  Bal- 
timore at  this  time  says  that  the 
more  opulent  citizens  lived  with 
far  more  luxuriousness  and  with 
greater  taste  than  people  of  the 
more  eastern  cities,  and  proceeds 
to  enlarge  on  the  excellence  and 
variety  of  the  markets,  for  even 
then  canvas-backs  and  terrapins 
were  famous  in  Maryland.  In 
1850  the  population  had  reached 
nearly  200,000;  in  1860  it  was 
212,418;  in  1870,  267,354;  and 
in  1880  it  had  reached  332,190. 
The  commerce  of  Baltimore  is 
very  active  and  important..  In 
addition  to  many  coastwise  lines, 
two  lines  of  ocean-steamers  now 
start  from  this  port,  and  through 
her  two  great  arteries  of  traffic, 
the  Baltimore  and  Ohio  and  the 
Northern  Central  Railways,  she 
competes  vigorously  for  the  grain- 
exporting  trade  of  the  West  and 
Northwest.  This  city  is  a  great 
entrepot  for  the  export  of  tobac- 
co, cotton,  petroleum,  bacon,  but- 
ter, cheese,  and  lard.  It  is  the 
chief  point  for  working  the  rich 
copper-ores  of  the  Lake  Superior 
region,  and  gold  and  silver  smelt- 
ing is  also  beginning  to  occupy 


Washington  Monument,  BuUimare. 


580  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

considerable  attention.  The  number  of  industrial  establishments,  including  iron-works, 
rolling-mills,  nail-factories,  locomotive-works,  cotton-factories,  etc.,  reached,  according 
to  the  latest  census  figures  published,  2,261,  and  the  canning  of  oysters,  fish,  meats, 
fruits,  and  vegetables,  reached  an  annual  value  of  more  than  $5,000,000.  The  en- 
trance to  the  port  of  Baltimore  is  defended  by  one  of  the  most  important  fortresses 
in  the  United  States — Fort  McHenry,  situated  on  a  point  of  land  between  the  Patap- 
sco  and  the  harbor.  This  was  successfully  defended  against  a  British  fleet  by  Colo- 
nel Armistead  in  the  War  of  1812,  and  the  national  song  of  the  "Star-Spangled 
Banner"  was  written  by  Francis  Scott  Key,  who,  as  a  prisoner  on  a  British  man-of- 
war,  witnessed  the  bombardment.  The  flag  that  waved  over  the  fort  is  still  in  pos- 
session of  a  descendant  of  Colonel  Armistead,  and  on  one  of  the  white  stripes  is  writ- 
ten the  name  of  the  defender  of  the  fort. 

Excellent  points  of  view  from  which  a  good  survey  of  Baltimore  may  be  had  are 
Federal  Hill  and  Patterson  Park,  which  are  on  opposite  sides  of  the  harbor.  The 
former  stands  on  the  south  side  of  the  inner  basin,  crowned  by  a  signal-station,  and 
commands  an  extensive  prospect  of  the  shipping,  the  city  to  the  north  and  west,  and 
the  river  and  the  bay.  Patterson  Park,  comprising  about  fifty-six  acres,  is  in  East 
Baltimore,  and  here  still  remain  the  earthworks  thrown  up  in  the  War  of  1812. 
This  little  park  is  a  favorite  resort,  though,  of  course,  far  inferior  in  attraction  to 
the  newer  Druid  Hill  Park.  But  the  finest  prospect  may  be  had  from  the  top  of 
Washington  Monument,  which  stands  foremost  among  the  public  attractions  of  the 
city,  which  is  so  celebrated  for  the  number  of  its  monuments  as  to  be  called  some- 
times the  "Monumental  City."  This  memorial  is  one  hundred  feet  above  tide-water, 
and  consists  of  a  Doric  shaft  one  hundred  and  seventy-six  feet  high,  mounted  on  a 
pedestal  twenty  feet  high  ;  and  on  the  top  of  the  column  is  an  heroic  statue  of  Wash- 
ington sixteen  feet  high,  the  total  height  above  the  river  thus  being  three  hundred 
and  twelve  feet.  The  shaft  is  of  white  marble,  and  cost  $200,000,  the  site  having 
been  contributed  by  Colonel  John  Eager  Howard  in  1816.  The  survey  of  Baltimore 
and  the  environs  is  almost  a  bird's-eye  view.  Below  is  a  sea  of  roofs,  from  which  the 
spires  of  church  and  other  pinnacles  rise  like  masts,  and  the  rounded  metal  roofs  of 
machine-shops  and  public  buildings  gleam  like  sheets  of  bronze  and  steel.  To  the 
south  stretches  the  Patapsco  far  down  to  the  bay,  and  on  a  clear  day  the  glittering 
summit  of  the  State-House  at  Annapolis,  forty  miles  away,  can  be  clearly  seen.  To 
the  north  and  west  are  the  hills  dotted  with  villages  or  single  villas,  or  dense  forest- 
growths. 

Battle  Monument,  standing  in  Monument  Square,  which  was  erected  in  1815  to 
the  memory  of  those  who  had  died  in  defense  of  the  city  against  the  British,  is  also 
a  massive  and  beautiful  though  not  a  lofty  memento  ;  and  other  similar  public 
ornaments  are  the  Wilder  Monument,  dedicated  to  the  Order  of  Odd-Fellows  ;  the 
Wells  and  McComas  Monument,  which  does  honor  to  the  memory  of  the  boys  who 
shot  the  British  commander,  General  Boss,  September  12,  1812  ;  and  the  Poe  Monu- 
ment, which  preserves  the  memory  6f  the  author  of  "The  Raven."  Among  the  pub- 


THE  METROPOLIS  AND  ITS  EASTERN  SISTERS. 


581 


lie  institutions  of  the  "  Mon- 
umental City "  are  several 
to  which  special  attention 
should  be  called.  The  Pea- 
body  Institute,  which  faces 
Washington  Monument,  was 
endowed  by  the  rich  Lon- 
don banker  and  philanthro- 
pist. It  is  designed  for 
the  diffusion  of  knowledge 
among  the  masses.  It  con- 
tains a  free  library  of  sixty- 
eight  thousand  volumes,  a 
lecture-hall,  and  a  conserva- 
tory of  music,  to  which  is 
being  added  an  art  depart- 
ment. Another  notable  in- 
stitution is  the  Johns  Hop- 
kins University,  which  was 
endowed  with  a  fund  of  three 
million  dollars  by  Johns  Hop- 
kins, a  wealthy  citizen  who 
died  in  1873.  The  same 
public-spirited  man  gave  two 
millions  to  build  and  sup- 
port a  great  hospital  now 
in  course  of  erection,  said 
to  be  the  finest  in  America. 
Baltimore  has  many  strik- 
ing and  massive  buildings, 
public  as  well  as  private, 
which  can  not  be  dwelt  on 
in  this  article,  for  we  must 
confine  ourselves  to  general 
description. 

The  financial  center  of 
Baltimore  is  in  Exchange 
Place  and  in  the  adjacent 
squares,  which  are  devoted 
to  bankers,  brokers,  insur- 
ance companies,  etc.  A  short 
walk  finds  us  in  Baltimore 


582  OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 

Street,  running  east  and  west,  which  is  the  main  business  thoroughfare,  and  in  it,  or 
near  it,  are  located  all  the  notable  shops,  restaurants,  hotels,  etc.  It  is  estimated 
that  more  people  pass  the  corner  of  Baltimore  and  Calvert  Streets  than  any  other 
spot  in  the  city.  The  most  fashionable  residence  portion  of  Baltimore  is  the  vicinity 
of  the  Washington  Monument,  and  the  most  attractive  promenade  is  North  Charles 
Street. 

Baltimore  is  possessed  of  a  spacious  and  beautiful  park,  called  Druid  Hill,  pur- 
chased by  the  city  on  the  death  of  the  former  owner,  Lloyd  Rogers,  who  lived 
here  alone  on  a  great  ancestral  estate.  It  lies  on  the  northern  suburbs  of  the  city, 
and  embraces  nearly  seven  hundred  acres  of  well-diversified  surface.  Steep  wooded 
hills  rise  two  hundred  feet  above  the  tide,  giving  extensive  glimpses  of  the  city  and 
its  surroundings.  Sequestered  dells ;  shady  valleys,  watered  by  the  purest  brooks  and 
springs ;  drives  winding  through  meadows  and  woods ;  bridle-paths  and  foot-ways 
which  lead  beneath  deep  forest  arches — render  the  park  one  of  great  sylvan  beauty 
and  seclusion.  Without  much  artifice,  except  that  shown  in  the  restoration  of  the  old 
family  mansion  and  its  surroundings,  Druid  Hill's  great  cha'rm  is  its  natural  attract- 
iveness of  wood  and  water,  grassy  lawns  and  branching  shade,  which  darkens  here  and 
there  into  forest  depths.  -This,  of  course,  is  the  favorite  goal  of  riding  or  driving 
from  the  city ;  and  here,  in  the  evenings  of  early  summer  or  autumn,  may  be  seen  a 
brilliant  display  of  the  beauty  and  wealth  of  Baltimore.  Druid  Lake,  one  of  the 
beauties  of  the  park,  is  the  main  storage  reservoir  of  the  water  system  of  the  city. 
The  suburbs  of  Baltimore  are  also  very  attractive,  and  here  live  many  of  the  rich 
merchants  of  the  city,  who  drive  back  and  forth  in  their  own  vehicles. 

WASHINGTON,  the  political  capital  of  our  country,  is  forty  miles  from  Baltimore, 
and  is  situated  on  the  north  bank  of  the  Potomac  River  at  its  confluence  with  the 
Eastern  Branch.  The  site  is  very  advantageous,  consisting  of  an  extensive,  undulating 
plain,  surrounded  by  rolling  hills  and  diversified  by  irregular  elevations  which  furnish 
imposing  positions  for  public  buildings.  The  site  of  the  city,  if  not  chosen  by  Wash- 
ington himself,  seems  to  have  been  selected  through  his  agency,  and  it  was  he  who 
laid  the  corner-stone  of  the  Capitol  on  September  18,  1793.  Seven  years  afterward 
the  seat  of  the  government  was  removed  thither.  The  city  was  also  planned  and 
laid  out  under  Washington's  direction,  who  desired  that  it  should  be  called  Federal 
City,  but  the  name  which  it  now  bears  was  conferred  two  years  after  Washington's 
death.  The  land  included  in  the  District  of  Columbia  was  ceded  to  the  Government 
by  the  States  of  Maryland  and  Virginia.  Georgetown,  which  is  now  a  suburb  of 
Washington,  is  older  than  its  more  celebrated  neighbor,  and  was  at  one  time  of  so 
much  importance  that  it  was  the  fourth  among  the  river-ports  of  the  United  States. 
But  it  is  now  simply  a  picturesque  old  place,  shaded  with  magnificent  trees  and  full 
of  those  substantial  old  red-brick  mansions,  in  park-like  inclosures  surrounded  by  high 
walls,  so  much  affected  by  the  political  and  social  aristocracy  of  Virginia  and  Mary- 
land in  the  olden  time. 

Washington,  once  only  a  political  capital,  is  becoming  more  and  more  a  great  social 


THE  METROPOLIS  AND   ITS  EASTERN  SISTERS. 


583 


I 

J- 


584  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

capital,  and  perhaps  it  is  yet  destined  to  lead  the  van  in  this  respect.  Its  population 
reached,  according  to  the  last  census,  147,307,  and  this  number  is  augmented  by  a 
floating  population  of  many  thousands  during  the  sessions  of  Congress.  Its  commerce 
and  manufactures  are  unimportant,  business  being  confined  to  the  local  trade  growing 
out  of  a  large  population.  It  is  one  of  the  most  clean  and  beautiful  of  American  cit- 
ies, the  improvements  made  during  the  last  fifteen  years  having  almost  transformed  it. 

The  governmental  buildings,  of  course,  are  the  chief  attraction  of  the  city,  and 
among  these  the  Capitol  not  only  ranks  first,  but  is  probably  the  most  magnificent 
public  edifice  in  the  world.  Its  white-marble  pile  is  situated  on  the  brow  of  a  hill, 
amid  a  nest  of  thick  foliage,  and  beneath  it  spreads  a  beautiful  park  of  fifty  acres' 
extent.  It  consists  of  a  main  building  three  hundred  and  fifty-two  feet  long  and  one 
hundred  and  twenty-one  feet  deep ;  and  two  wings  or  extensions,  each  two  hundred 
and  thirty-eight  by  one  hundred  and  forty  feet.  This  gives  a  total  length  of  seven 
hundred  and  fifty-one  feet,  and  the  area  covered  is  about  three  acres  and  a  half.  On 
the  steps  of  the  central  portico  are  groups  of  statuary  and  colossal  marble  statues. 
Bass-reliefs  in  bronze  and  marble  and  friezes  give  dignity  and  beauty  to  the  principal 
entrances.  The  bronze  doors  of  the  rotunda  and  the  Senate  wing  are  superbly  wrought 
in  alto-rilievo,  and  are  celebrated  for  their  beauty  and  finish.  The  rotunda,  ninety- 
six  feet  in  diameter  and  one  hundred  and  eighty  feet  high,  is  decorated  with  panels 
representing  scenes  in  American  history,  and  over  this  the  dome  rises  in  the  center 
of  the  Capitol,  being  the  most  imposing  feature  of  the  huge  pile.  This  uplifts  three 
hundred  and  seven  feet  above  the  base-line  of  the  building.  The  canopy  of  the  dome 
is  ornamented  with  frescoes  by  Brumidi,  representing  sixty-three  distinguished  char- 
acters in  our  history,  in  such  proportions  as  to  appear  of  life-size  from  the  floor 
beneath.  From  the  balustrade  at  the  base  of  the  canopy  the  visitor  has  the  finest 
possible  view  of  Washington  and  its  surroundings.  The  most  interesting  rooms  of  the 
Capitol  are  the  Old  Hall  of  Representatives,  now  used  as  a  National  Statuary  Gallery ; 
the  Old  Senate-Chamber,  now  the  Supreme  Court-room ;  the  Hall  of  Representatives, 
the  finest  legislative  chamber  in  the  world ;  the  Senate-Chamber ;  and  the  Congres- 
sional Library,  which  contains  the  largest  library  in  the  country,  about  four  hundred 
thousand  volumes.  These  rooms  are  richly  ornamented  with  frescoes,  wall-paintings, 
stained  glass,  carvings,  and  statuary,  and  the  marble  staircases  leading  to  the  visitors' 
galleries  are  striking  architectural  features  of  the  Capitol. 

At  the  opposite  end  of  the  city  from  the  Capitol,  on  Pennsylvania  Avenue,  are  the 
group  of  departments  surrounding  the  Presidential  mansion,  known  as  the  White 
House,  and  inclosing  with  it  pleasant  little  parks  and  grounds.  The  Treasury  De- 
partment is  a  building  in  the  Ionic  style,  four  hundred  and  sixty-eight  by  two  hun- 
dred and  sixty-four  feet  in  size,  the  east  front  of  which  was  modeled  after  the  Tem- 
ple of  Minerva  at  Athens,  and  on  the  other  side  of  the  White  House  is  the  huge 
and  ornate  structure  devoted  to  the  State,  War,  and  Navy  Departments,  which  is 
five  hundred  and  sixty-seven  by  three  hundred  and  forty-two  feet  on  the  ground-plan 
and  four  stories  in  height,  with  a  high  Mansard-roof. 


THE  METROPOLIS  AND  ITS  EASTERN  SISTERS. 


585 


586 


OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 


The  White  House,  which  is  between  these  buildings,  is  a  spacious  mansion  built  of 
freestone,  one  hundred  and  seventy  feet  long  and  eighty-six  feet  wide.  It  is  of  the 
Ionic  style,  and  painted  white,  and  the  grounds,  which  are  finely  laid  out,  include 
seventy-five  acres,  twenty  acres  being  inclosed  as  the  President's  private  grounds,  and 
containing  extensive  conservatories.  Opposite  the  White  House  is  Lafayette  Park,  the 
largest  in  the  city,  laid  out  in  winding  paths  and  filled  with  trees  and  shrubbery.  In 
this  stand  Clark  Mills's  equestrian  statues  of  AVashington  and  Jackson,  and  around 
it  are  grouped  elegant  residences,  occupied  by  senators,  representatives,  cabinet  min- 
isters, diplomats,  and  bankers. 

Other  noble  public  buildings  in  Washington  are  the  Patent-Office,  constructed  of 
marble,  freestone,  and  granite,  and  the  finest  edifice,  from  the  purely  architectual 
stand-point,  in  Washington  ;  the  Post-Office  Department,  of  white  marble,  in  the  Co- 
rinthian style,  immediately  opposite  the  preceding  building ;  the  Department  of  Agri- 


Trfa#ury  Department. 

culture,  surrounded  by  superb  conservatories  and  flower-gardens ;  and  the  Smithsonian 
Institution,  a  beautiful  red-sandstone  edifice  of  great  size  and  height,  set  in  the  midst 
of  a  charming  little  park.  The  latter  was  endowed  by  James  Smithson,  an  English- 
man, and  the  illegitimate  son  of  the  Duke  of  Northumberland,  who  founded  it  "for 
the  increase  and  diffusion  of  knowledge  among  men."  It  was  begun  in  1847  and 
completed  soon  afterward ;  and  now  contains  one  of  the  finest  museums  of  natural 
history  extant,  with  large  collections  in  metallurgy,  mineralogy,  and  ethnology.  Near 
the  Smithsonian  and  adjoining  the  Capitol  grounds  are  the  Botanical  Gardens,  con- 
sisting of  a  series  of  vast  conservatories,  filled  with  rare  and  curious  plants,  flowers, 
and  fruits. 

The  Washington  Monument,  designed  to  have  been  the  most  imposing  in  the  world, 
is  still  in  an  unfinished  condition,  and  is  rather  a  blemish  than  an  ornament  to  the 
city,  though  it  is  hoped  that  it  will  yet  be  completed  according  to  its  original  pur- 


THE  METROPOLIS  AND  ITS  EASTERN  SISTERS. 


587 


pose.  While  speaking  of  the  public  institutions  of  the  capital,  it  will  not  do  to  omit 
some  allusion  to  the  "Soldiers'  Home"  (for  disabled  soldiers  of  the  regular  army), 
which  consists  of  several  spacious  marble  buildings  in  the  Norman-Gothic  style  in  a 
beautiful  park  of  five  hundred  acres.  This  park  occupies  an  elevated  plateau  three 
miles  north  of  the  Capitol,  and  here  several  of  our  Presidents  have  made  their  sum- 
mer home,  notably  Lincoln,  whose  last  days  were  spent  here.  Washington  has  also 
many  striking  public  buildings,  not  erected  by  the  General  Government,  which  add 
much  to  the  beauty  and  interest  of  the  city. 

The  most  busy  and  fashionable  street  of  Washington  is  Pennsylvania  Avenue,  in 
that  portion  of  its  course  between  the  Capitol  and  the  White  House.  It  has  a  width 
of  one  hundred  and  sixty  feet,  and  on  it  are  the  principal  hotels,  theatres,  shops,  etc. 
Massachusetts,  Vermont,  and  Maryland  Avenues  are  lined  with  handsome  residences, 
and  these,  with  the  squares  in  the  near  vicinity  of  the  White  House,  constitute  the 
aristocratic  residence  portion  of  the  city.  Washington  in  the  winter  is  the  seat  of  a 
very  brilliant  and  fascinating  social  life  ;  for  here  is  gathered  much  of  the  intellect, 
culture,  wealth,  and  beauty  of  our  land  during  the  annual  congressional  session,  to 
which  the  large  foreign  element,  representing  the  most  attractive  features  of  the  old 
world  social  life,  adds  additional  charm.  The  surroundings  of  the  city  are  very  pleas- 
ant. We  have  already  spoken  of  quaint  old  Georgetown,  which  looks  like  a  piece  of 
the  eighteenth  century  set  down  in  the  midst  of  the  present.  The  near  scenery  of 
the  Potomac  River  is  wild  and  beautiful.  Across  the  river  are  Alexandria,  another 
quaint  old  town  ;  Arlington,  once  owned  by  Washington,  and  at  the  time  of  the  open- 
ing of  the  late  war  the  property  of  General  Robert  E.  Lee ;  and  all  the  embattled 
heights  of  the  Virginia  shore,  so  full  even  to-day  of  associations  of  the  late  civil  war. 


War  and  Navy  Building. 


OUR   NATURAL   RESOURCES. 

Extent  and  diversity  of  the  United  States — Its  advantages  of  coast-line,  rain-fall,  and  internal  water-ways — The 
great  cereal  crops,  wheat,  corn,  etc. — Their  annual  product  and  value — Possibilities  of  the  future — The  cotton, 
rice,  tobacco,  and  sugar  States — Statistics  of  production — Our  annual  fruit-crops — The  forests  of  the  country — 
Present  condition  of  the  lumber  industry — The  enormous  possibilities  of  the  Pacific  coast  in  lumber — Coal 
production  in  America— Our  iron-mines — Coal  and  iron  only  in  their  infant  development— The  yield  of  the 
precious  metals — How  gold  and  silver  are  distributed— Our  deposits  of  copper,  lead,  quicksilver,  and  the 
minor  metals — Petroleum-oil  and  its  distribution — Enormous  value  of  our  sea-fisheries — Importance  of  fish- 
culture — Mackerel,  cod,  shad,  herring,  salmon,  etc. — The  oyster-beds  of  American  waters — Total  value  of  our 
fisheries — Our  resources  capable  of  twenty-fold  their  present  production. 

THE  United  States,  exclusive  of  lakes  and  river  surfaces,  contains  3,026,494  square 
miles,  an  area  divided  into  political  divisions  of  thirty-eight  States,  nine  Territories,  and 
one  District.  This  vast  region  supports  a  population  of  50,155,783,  and  is  easily  capa- 
ble of  sustaining  five  times  that  number  of  people,  without  unduly  drawing  upon  its 
resources.  It  contains  the  greatest  possible  variety  of  soil  and  climate,  and  its  inland 
seas  and  water-courses  are  such  as  to  give  great  facilities  for  interior  commerce,  aside 
from  the  advantages  offered  by  a  widely  extended  and  intricate  railway  system,  which 
is  rapidly  increasing.  The  coast-line  of  the  United  States,  including  indentations  of 
gulfs,  bays,  and  inlets,  is  27,700  miles,  which  is  rather  more  than  eight  thousand 
miles  longer  than  the  coast-line  of  Europe.  This  estimate  includes  the  Atlantic  and 
Pacific  sea-coasts,  the  shore-line  of  the  Great  Lakes,  and  the  shore-line  of  the  Missis- 
sippi Kiver  and  its  tributaries.  This  gives  our  country  about  one  mile  of  shore-line 
to  one  hundred  and  four  miles  of  surface — more  than  double  the  ratio  in  Europe. 
The  advantage  of  a  sea-coast  indented  with  numerous  bays,  inlets,  and  estuaries,  is 
beyond  measure.  It  affords  harbors  for  shipping,  and  gives  the  best  chance  for  large 
international  commerce,  while  long  and  navigable  rivers  are  essential  to  internal  trade. 
History  proves  that  the  two  greatest  nations  of  antiquity  grew  mainly  by  their  com- 
mercial and  naval  advantages.  Greece  and  Rome  never  would  have  achieved  their 
greatness  had  their  coast-lines  been  less  favorable  in  shape  and  extent.  The  action 
of  the  same  law  of  civilization  is  no  less  noticeable  in  modern  times,  and  the  United 
States  is  favored  in  this  natural  advantage  beyond  all  other  nations. 

The  first  and  most  important  blessings  which  Nature  can  bestow  on  a  country  are 
good  climate  and  a  fertile  soil,  for  these  two,  above  all  other  elements,  are  essential 
to  the  health  and  prosperity  of  the  people.  Our  country  lies  entirely  within  the 


OUR  NATURAL   RESOURCES.  589 

temperate  zone,  though  a  certain  portion  of  it  is  practically  semi-tropical ;  and,  while 
its  climate  is  considerably  diversified,  it  may  be  regarded,  on  the  whole,  as  very 
healthful  to  man,  and  is  suited  to  an  almost  endless  variety  of  products.  The  fer- 
tility of  the  soil  in  the  United  States  is  remarkably  great.  With  the  exception  of  a 
portion  of  the  mountainous  region,  nearly  all  of  which  is  a  store-house  of  coal  and 
the  metals,  there  is  very  little  space  not  available  for  grain,  grass,  cotton,  tobacco, 
sugar,  or  other  valuable  crops.  So  great,  too,  is  the  diversity  of  the  country  in 
climate  and  condition,  that  a  poor  yield  in  one  portion  is  always  counterbalanced  by 
a  large  yield  somewhere  else.  The  total  returns  of  the  earth  to  man  vary  less  year 
by  year  than  elsewhere,  so  that  North  America  is  more  and  more  recognized  as  the 
store-house  for  the  food-reserve  of  the  rest  of  the  world.  The  fertility  of  the  soil 
is  much  assisted  by  the  abundant  and  uniform  rain-fall.  This  will  average,  year  by 
year,  somewhat  more  than  forty  inches,  while  the  rain-fall  of  Europe  is  only  twenty- 
four  inches,  as  shown  by  observations  for  many  years  past.  The  blessing  of  such  a 
rain-fall  does  not  end  with  its  effects  on  the  products  of  the  soil,  but  it  makes  the 
country  a  land  of  pure  springs  and  crystal  brooks.  In  the  regions  along  the  eastern 
and  western  slopes  of  the  Kocky  Mountains  the  rain-fall  is  lighter  than  elsewhere,  and 
here  irrigation  is  needed  to  produce  crops,  the  water  being  drawn  from  those  inex- 
haustible reservoirs,  the  mountain  snows.  Experience  has  shown  that  the  alkali  soils 
of  such  regions  as  Utah,  once  considered  as  sterile  and  worthless,  when  stimulated 
by  irrigation  can  be  made  to  bloom  like  the  rose,  and  produce  the  richest  return  to 
man's  toil. 

In  taking  a  brief  survey  of  the  natural  resources  of  this  country,  let  us  first  glance 
at  the  products  of  the  soil,  which  of  course  surpass  all  other  returns  of  industry,  not 
only  in  money  value,  but  in  primary  importance  to  the  people. 

Wheat  has  been,  from  time  immemorial,  the  most  important  cereal  of  the  world, 
having  been  known  from  the  earliest  times.  Indeed,  it  is  a  singular  fact  that  some 
of  the  best-known  varieties  of  American  wheat  have  originated  from  seed  found  in 
the  cerements  of  Egyptian  mummies,  proving  that  it  has  preserved  its  vitality  for  not 
less  than  thirty  centuries  !  Though  this  cereal  is  largely  grown  in  all  the  European 
countries,  Russia  is  the  only  one  which  has  much  to  spare  for  export,  so  that  our 
own  country  is  now  the  principal  granary  for  foreign  supply.  The  belt  of  our  wheat- 
producing  region  stretches  from  ocean  to  ocean.  It  is  narrower  on  the  Atlantic  slope, 
only  running  far  south  on  the  highlands.  In  the  Mississippi  Valley  it  widens  both 
toward  the  south  and  to  the  north,  where  it  stretches  much  beyond  the  Canada  line ; 
west  of  the  lakes  to  the  forty-ninth  parallel ;  while  on  the  Pacific  slope  it  extends  to 
the  very  southernmost  limits  of  the  United  States,  and  on  the  north  runs  far  away 
over  the  line  into  British  Columbia.  The  latter  country,  particularly  the  valley  of 
the  Saskatchewan,  it  is  believed,  will  become  one  of  the  most  notable  wheat-producing 
regions  of  the  world. 

More  than  half  the  area  of  the  United  States  is  included  in  the  wheat-belt,  but  it 
is  as  yet  the  great  valley  of  the  Mississippi  which  is  our  main  granary.  Here  can  be 


590  OUR   NATIVE  LAND. 

seen  the  golden  wheat  in  fields  from  ten  acres  to  twenty  thousand  acres.  Still  larger 
fields  are  sometimes  seen  on  the  Pacific  slope.  Indeed,  in  some  portions  of  California, 
Nature  has  furnished  such  a  climate  and  soil  that  by  means  of  irrigation  two  crops 
a  year  of  wheat  or  barley  can  be  raised,  and  an  additional  crop  of  Indian  corn,  from 
the  same  ground.  Some  of  the  Western  Territories  are  proving  wheat-producing  regions 
of  vast  importance,  Dakota  notably  so,  and  the  large  scale  on  which  this  cereal  is 
raised  by  individual  capitalists  (for  such  is  the  term  to  use  in  view  of  the  amount  of 
money  invested  and  the  organization  of  labor)  is  simply  astonishing.  It  is  said  that 
a  single  wheat-crop  grown  in  Dakota  harvested  during  the  last  season  the  product 
of  a  hundred  thousand  acres.  The  limit  .of  the  successful  cultivation  of  this  grain  is 
not  determined  so  much  by  the  cold  of  winter  as  by  the  temperature  of  summer, 
57 '2°  being  the  lowest  mean  temperature  at  which  it  will  mature.  Wheat-growing 
with  us  has  regularly  extended  westward.  In  some  of  the  older  States  the  land 
has  become  exhausted  on  account  of  careless  agriculture,  and  so  stocked  with  the 
seeds  of  weeds  that  it  has  become  necessary  to  seek  new  lands.  These  have  been 
found  in  the  virgin  prairies  of  the  far  West,  where  no  expense  for  manures  is  needed. 
It  is  estimated  that  only  about  one  tenth  of  the  available  wheat-lands  in  the  country 
has  been  utilized,  allowing  in  this  estimate  for  a  proportionate  allotment  to  the 
other  cereals.  The  wheat-crop  of  the  United  States,  for  the  year  1880,  amounted  to 
459,479,505  bushels.  The  surface  sown  was  nearly  30,000,000  acres,  giving  an  average 
of  a  little  more  than  fifteen  bushels  per  acre.  The  value  of  the  crop  was  $497,030,142, 
and  the  value  of  the  wheat  export  for  the  year  mentioned  $150,575,577. 

Even  more  important  than  wheat  is  maize,  or  Indian  corn,  the  name  by  which  it 
is  better  known  on  this  side  of  the  ocean.  The  area  of  the  corn-region  overlaps  the 
wheat-belt  far  above  its  southern  limit,  and  extends  to  the  extreme  south,  where  it  grows 
luxuriantly  side  by  side  with  sngar-cane  and  cotton.  This  most  valuable  cereal  finds  its 
use,  not  merely  in  supplying  man  with  food,  but  as  the  cheapest  and  best  means  of 
fattening  cattle  and  swine  for  the  market,  a  purpose  to  which  it  is  exclusively  devoted 
by  many  extensive  growers.  The  yield  of  corn  in  the  United  States  for  1880  was 
1,754,861,535  bushels,  raised  to  some  extent  in  every  State  and  nearly  every  Territory 
in  the  Union.  The  main  production  was  in  the  Mississippi  Valley,  through  the  whole 
length  of  which,  except  in  the  extreme  northern  part,  it  grows  abundantly.  The  money 
value  of  the  crop  was  $580,486,217.  Indian  corn  is  an  American  plant,  and  was  not 
known  in  the  Old  World  till  after  the  discovery  of  the  New.  It  was  found  in  cul- 
tivation by  the  aborigines  from  New  England  to  Chili.  Darwin,  while  traveling  in 
South  America,  discovered  ears  of  corn,  together  with  eighteen  species  of  recent  sea- 
shells,  imbedded  in  a  beach,  which  had  been  raised  eighty-five  feet  above  the  level  of 
the  sea ;  and  varieties  not  now  in  cultivation  in  Peru  have  been  found  in  ancient 
tombs  older  than  the  Incas.  It  is  estimated  that  maize  is  eaten  by  a  greater  number 
of  human  beings  than  any  other  grain  except  rice.  It  is  a  highly  concentrated  food, 
and  is  superior  even  to  wheat  in  its  union  of  all  the  elements  necessary  to  sustain 
life.  In  Central  and  South  America  it  is  the  principal  food  of  the  common  people, 


OUR  NATURAL   RESOURCES.  591 

and  in  the  southern  and  western  portions  of  the  United  States  it  furnishes  a  large 
portion  of  the  bread-stuff  used.  The  variety  of  food  products  derived  from  corn 
are  many,  and  probably  no  cereal  contributes  in  more  diverse  ways  to  the  necessities 
and  luxuries  of  man,  on  the  Western  hemisphere  certainly.  As  an  article  of  export, 
except  in  the  transmuted  form  of  beef  and  pork,  corn  will  never  compete  with 
wheat,  but  for  purposes  of  domestic  consumption,  among  the  masses  of  people,  it 
stands  without  a  rival.  It  is  probable  that  quite  one  third  of  the  population  of  the 
United  States  hardly  ever  eat  wheat-bread,  while  the  rest  of  the  people  use  corn  to  a 
considerable  extent  as  well  as  wheat. 

In  the  northern  part  of  the  country  extends  a  belt  across  the  continent  where  the 
minor  grains,  such  as  oats,  buckwheat,  barley,  and  rye,  are  cultivated  to  a  large  extent. 
The  oat-crop  of  the  United  States  for  1880  was  407,858,999  bushels ;  while  the  united 
product  of  barley,  rye,  and  buckwheat  amounted  to  75,762,426  bushels.  The  value 
of  these  grains,  roughly  estimated,  would  be  about  $200,000,000  a  year.  But  next  to 
wheat  and  corn,  among  the  products  of  the  earth,  must  be  ranked  the  native  and 
cultivated  grasses,  in  the  forms  of  pasturage  and  hay.  It  is  scarcely  possible  to  appre- 
ciate the  value  of  the  nutritious  grasses  that  grow  upon  the  uplands  of  Texas  and 
stretch  northward  over  the  plains  between  the  Mississippi  and  the  Rocky  Mountains. 
Here  roam  and  feed  countless  herds  of  cattle,  and  hence  comes  the  beef-supply  of 
the  Union,  though  large  herds  are  raised  also  east  of  the  Mississippi.  The  impor- 
tance of  pasturage,  as  an  element  of  wealth  in  the  matter  of  dairy-farming,  is  also 
immense.  Two  products  of  the  dairy,  cheese  and  butter,  are  annually  increasing  in 
amount  and  becoming  valuable  articles  of  export.  Statistics  show  the  product  to  be 
valued  at  about  $350,000,000  (census  of  1880) — one  third  more  in  value  than  the 
cotton-crop,  and  only  one  fifth  less  than  that  of  corn.  Hardly  less  than  this  estimate 
is  that  of  the  hay-crop,  though,  of  course,  a  large  portion  of  the  latter  must  be  cred- 
ited to  the  value  of  dairy  products.  All  other  countries  in  the  world  combined  do 
not  produce  as  much  cotton  as  the  United  States,  for  here  is  found  the  union  of  the 
most  favorable  conditions  of  soil  and  climate,  and  this  superiority  holds  good  in 
quality  as  well  as  quantity.  Cotton  grows  as  far  north  as  40°,  but  the  belt  within 
which  its  cultivation  is  most  profitable  lies  between  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  and  the  par- 
allel of  36°.  The  best  section  of  this  belt  is  about  one  hundred  miles  either  side  of 
the  parallel  of  32°.  Although  cotton  is  a  good  crop  -in  portions  of  Tennessee,  Arkan- 
sas, Missouri,  and  North  Carolina,  the  distinctive  cotton  States  are  South  Carolina, 
Georgia,  Florida,  Alabama,  Mississippi,  Louisiana,  and  Texas.  The  yield  per  acre  varies 
from  130  pounds  on  the  uplands,  to  400  pounds  on  the  rich  lowlands.  The  two  lead- 
ing varieties  of  this  important  product  grown  in  the  United  States  are  the  upland 
and  the  sea-island.  The  former,  known  as  the  short  staple,  is  of  West  Indian  origin, 
and  receives  its  designation  to  distinguish  it  from  the  produce  of  the  islands  and  low 
districts  by  the  sea.  The  sea-island  cotton  is  the  finest  and  most  high-priced  variety, 
but  its  cultivation  is  confined  to  limited  districts.  The  cotton-crop  of  1879,  accord- 
ing to  the  census  of  1880,  was  5,746,414  bales,  representing  a  money  value  of  $242,- 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

140,957.  This  was  an  average  year,  and,  as  the  acreage  of  cotton  remains  about  the 
same,  it  may  stand  fairly  for  the  annual  contribution  of  the  United  States  to  the 
needs  of  the  world.  About  four  fifths  of  the  cotton  product  are  exported,  and  the 
value  makes  a  very  important  factor  in  determining  exchanges  and  the  balance  of 
trade,  a  function  on  which  the  old  South  depended  so  much  among  the  reasons 
which  led  it  to  secession. 

The  sugar-producing  region  of  the  United  States  comprises  Louisiana,  Texas,  Flor- 
ida, and  portions  of  South  Carolina,  Alabama,  and  Tennessee,  but  it  is  in  the  first 
two  named  States  that  the  crop  is  at  its  best.  In  the  more  northerly  parts  of  this 
region  the  sugar-cane  is  grown  mainly  for  its  sirup,  as  the  least  touch  of  frost  is  apt 
to  injure  it  too  much  for  the  production  of  good  sugar.  Many  varieties  of  the  cane 
are  used,  all  of  which  are  propagated  by  cuttings,  instead  of  planting  from  the  seed. 
Sorghum,  or  the  Chinese  sugar-cane,  has  been  introduced  into  the  States  where  the 
climate  does  not  admit  of  the  other  varieties  of  cane,  and  at  one  time  great  hope  was 
entertained  of  the  results ;  but  so  far  experiments  have  failed,  as  it  has  been  found 
impracticable  to  crystallize  the  sugar  from  the  sirup.  The  bulk  of  the  sugar  produced 
in  this  country  is  raised  in  Louisiana,  where  the  industry  is  old  and  thoroughly  organ- 
ized. The  product  for  1880  was  178,872  hogsheads  of  sugar  and  16,573,273  gallons 
of  molasses.  The  value  of  our  total  sugar  exports  for  the  same  year,  including  man- 
ufactured sugars,  a  part  of  which  latter,  it  may  be  assumed,  was  derived  from  foreign 
sugars,  was  $3,339,987.  Tobacco,  another  important  product,  is  raised  in  nearly 
every  State,  except,  perhaps,  in  the  extreme  northern  tier.  Those  which  lead  are 
Kentucky,  Virginia,  Maryland,  North  Carolina,  Ohio,  Pennsylvania,  and  Connecticut. 
The  Virginia  and  Connecticut  tobaccos  are  the  choicest  and  highest-priced.  The  total 
number  of  acres  planted  in  1879  was  631,061 ;  the  production,  469,816,203  pounds ; 
the  value  of  the  crop,  $36,624,357.  The  rice  region  of  the  country  is  made  up  of  the 
lowlands  lying  along  the  mouths  of  the  rivers  and  the  estuaries  of  the  extreme  South, 
beginning  near  the  northern  boundary  of  South  Carolina  and  extending  to  the  Texas 
border  on  the  Gulf  of  Mexico ;  but  it  is  in  South  Carolina  and  Georgia  that  this  prod- 
uct flourishes  best.  Our  average  annual  crop  of  rice  comes  to  not  far  from  110,000,000 
pounds,  for  there  is  not  much  variation  in  the  annual  statistics  of  the  yield.  Some 
description  of  this  culture  will  be  found  in  the  chapter  on  "The  Lowlands  of  the 
South." 

The  variety  and  amount  of  fruit  raised  in  the  Union,  including  those  of  the  tem- 
perate and  sub-tropical  zones,  are  astonishing.  Of  the  orchard-fruits  the  apple  is 
by  far  the  most  valuable.  The  productive  belt  of  the  apple  extends  across  the  entire 
middle  and  northern  portions  of  the  Union,  but  in  the  South  is  only  found  on  the 
plateaus  and  highlands.  The  hardihood  and  "keeping"  qualities  of  this  fruit  enable 
it  to  be  exported  in  great  quantities  to  foreign  lands,  while  the  many  forms  in  which 
it  can  be  prepared  for  food  increase  its  domestic  consumption.  The  money  value  of 
the  apple-crop  is  not  less  than  $50,000,000  a  year,  and  next  to  this  ranks  the  peach- 
crop,  which  averages  about  $38,000,000  a  year.  Including  all  the  fruits,  except  the 


OUR   NATURAL   RESOURCES.  593 

orange  of  the  South  and  the  small  fruits,  the  total  value  of  the  crop  is  estimated  at 
$138,000,000,  a  little  less  than  one  third  the  value  of  the  average  wheat-crop  of  the 
country. 

Our  forests,  though  the  primitive,  uncultivated  product  of  the  soil,  are  of  too  great 
importance  to  be  overlooked  as  an  element  in  national  wealth.  Maine  has  extensive 
woods,  from  which  an  immense  amount  of  timber  for  ship-building,  domestic  use,  and 
for  export,  has  been  derived.  This  drain  has  been  going  on  for  more  than  half  a  cen- 
tury, without  materially  affecting  the  supply,  though  the  time  will  shortly  come  when 
the  timber  in  the  river  forests  will  have  been  exhausted.  In  Maine,  as  in  other  por- 
tions of  the  country  where  lumbering  has  been  carried  on  for  many  years,  it  is  probable 
that  the  saw-mills  will  soon  have  to  be  erected  near  the  place  of  cutting,  because  the 
rivers  will  cease  to  be  available  for  floating  down  the  logs.  The  foot-hills  and  the  sides 
of  both  the  White  and  Green  Mountains  are  clad  with  extensive  and  valuable  forests, 
which  may  be  said  also  of  the  Catskills  and  the  Adirondacks.  All  of  these  sections 
furnish  valuable  lumber,  though  mostly  of  the  hard-wood  variety.  The  Alleghany 
range,  for  a  hundred  miles  on  the  eastern  side,  and  on  the  western  to  the  edge  of  the 
prairie-region,  is  rich  in  woodland.  The  specially  valuable  portion  is  the  pine  coun- 
try of  the  Carolirias  and  Georgia,  as  this  is  the  source  of  most  of  the  turpentine  and 
tar  of  the  world,  besides  furnishing  a  great  quantity  of  lumber.  The  forests  along 
the  north  side  of  the  Gulf  are  rich  in  timber,  while  the  fine-grained  cedars  of  Florida 
are  peculiarly  desirable  for  lead-pencils. 

But  the  chief  lumber-regions  which  to-day  supply  our  markets  are  those  of  Maine, 
already  mentioned,  of  Pennsylvania,  Wisconsin,  Michigan,  and  Minnesota.  Their  pref- 
erence grows  out  of  two  causes  :  the  fact  that  these  States  are  intersected  by  many 
rivers,  which  float  down  the  logs  hundreds  of  miles  at  a  trifling  expense  of  labor  ; 
and  the  no  less  important  consideration  that  the  forests  are  so  largely  of  the  tine- 
grained,  soft  white  pine  which  is  in  demand  for  the  largest  variety  of  uses.  Chicago, 
one  of  the  greatest  lumber-markets  of  the  world,  consumes  3,000,000,000  feet  a  year. 
It  is  estimated  that  there  are  now  left  standing  in  the  important  lumber  States  of 
Michigan,  Wisconsin,  and  Minnesota,  only  about  90,000,000,000  feet.  So  we  see  that 
Chicago  alone  would  exhaust  these  States  in  thirty  years  !  This  tremendous  depletion 
of  our  most  valuable  lumber-regions,  a  depletion  partly  owing  to  wasteful  cutting,  has 
at  last  aroused  the  attention  of  many  intelligent  and  thinking  men.  An  association 
has  been  formed  to  agitate  the  matter,  and  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  Congress  and  the 
Legislatures  of  the  States  will  be  brought  to  take  some  action  in  the  matter.  The 
eifect  of  forests  in  promoting  an  equable  rain-fall,  and  in  otherwise  modifying  the 
climate  and  conditions  of  agriculture,  is  of  the  greatest  importance.  The  continual 
destruction  of  trees,  without  planting  new  forests  and  groves  in  proportion,  is  becom- 
ing a  serious  danger. 

All  the  other  timber-regions  of  the  United  States  yield  to  those  of  the  Pacific  in 
their  immense  extent  and  the  size  of  the  trees.  Of  the  latter,  those  of  Oregon  and 
of  Washington  Territory  are  most  worthy  of  attention.  Here  may  be  found  countless 

38 


594  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

trees  of  immense  size,  which  loom  up  from  one  hundred  to  two  hundred  feet  in 
height,  with  a  proportionate  diameter.  These  forests  are  the  wonder  of  all  who  have 
seen  them,  and  from  this  store-house  will  come  the  supply  not  only  of  the  Pacific 
States,  but  of  South  America,  China,  and  Japan.  Likewise  in  Alaska  is  found  an- 
other great  lumber-region  covered  with  dense  forests  of  fine  timber — pine,  cedar,  spruce, 
hemlock,  etc.  It  is  impossible  to  give  the  statistics  of  the  yearly  lumber-supply  of 
the  United  States,  but  it  may  be  safely  said  that  the  value  is  surpassed  by  no  other 
single  product  of  the  soil. 

Among  the  mineral  products  with  which  our  country  is  so  richly  supplied,  and 
the  value  of  which  we  have  as  yet  only  tapped  on  the  surface,  coal  is  by  all  means  the 
most  important.  We  are  told  by  geologists  that  coal  is  not  a  chemical  compound 
nor  a  mechanical  formation.  It  is  a  combination  in  some  sense  of  both,  the  pro- 
duction of  vegetable  masses  which  once  stood  where  the  coal  is  found.  Coal  has  been 
called  the  stored-up  energy  of  the  sun  through  long  ages  of  intense  heat ;  for  the 
conditions  under  which  the  carboniferous  plants  grew  must  have  been  great  warmth 
and  abundant  moisture.  We  can  have  but  little  idea  of  the  marvelous  vegetation 
that  then  covered  the  earth.  Then  there  grew  flags  fourteen  inches  through,  mosses 
that  towered  up  fifty  feet,  with  thickness  in  proportion,  and  ferns  which  reached  the 
height  of  sixty  feet.  The  densest  forests  of  our  tropics  are  insignificant  by  the  side 
of  such  a  growth.  The  time  that  it  took  to  form  this  vegetation  into  coal  may  be 
guessed  at,  when  it  is  estimated  that  a  seam  of  coal  twenty  feet  thick  would  require, 
to  make  it  a  deposit  in  the  form  of  peat,  vegetable  matter  one  hundred  and  twenty 
feet  thick.  To  make  a  single  coal-bed  three  feet  thick,  Professor  Dana  estimates  it 
must  have  taken  seven  thousand  four  hundred  years.  Yet  there  are  some  coal-beds 
sixty  feet  in  thickness.  The  facts  of  the  world's  history  which  such  a  statement 
opens  to  the  mind  are  almost  too  big  for  words.  The  peat-bogs  of  the  world  are 
only  incipient  coal-beds.  First  comes  peat ;  then  lignite  ;  then  bituminous  coal ;  and 
then  anthracite  coal,  in  this  long,  slow  process  of  the  Nature-factory.  Anthracite  coal 
is  the  final  result  of  the  most  favorable  conditions  of  heat  and  pressure. 

When  we  compare  the  coal-fields  of  the  world,  we  find  an  enormous  disparity. 
France  has  one  square  mile  of  coal  to  every  two  hundred  of  territory ;  Belgium,  one 
to  twenty- two  square  miles  of  territory ;  England,  one  to  twenty  square  miles.  In 
England  is  found  more  than  half  the  coal-producing  area  of  Europe,  amounting  to 
two  thousand  square  miles.  It  is  stated  by  Professor  Le  Conte  that  in  one  hundred 
and  ten  years  the  whole  available  coal-beds  of  Great  Britain  will  have  been  exhausted. 
Already  many  of  them  have  been  carried  down  several  hundred  feet  into  the  bowels 
of  the  earth,  and  the  difficulty  of  the  working  is  very  great.  The  ratio  of  coal-beds 
for  the  whole  of  Europe  is  one  square  mile  to  three  hundred  and  seventy-five.  In 
the  United  States  the  coal-fields  already  discovered  make  up  two  hundred  thousand 
square  miles,  and  this  aggregate  is  continually  being  increased  by  fresh  discoveries. 
Our  ratio  is  now  one  square  mile  of  coal-beds  to  fifteen  square  miles  of  territory. 

The   facility  of   mining  in  this  country  is  very  great,   as,   owing  to   the   immense 


OUR  NATURAL  RESOURCES.  595 

extent  of  the  beds,  it  has  not  been  so  far  necessary  to  work  them  deeply.  It  is  esti- 
mated that  there  is  enough  coal  in  the  mines  already  opened  to  supply  the  needs  of 
the  United  States,  with  such  increase  of  population  as  may  be  expected,  for  the  next 
five  hundred  years.  The  total  product  of  bituminous  coal  during  1879-'80  was  some- 
thing over  forty-two  million  tons,  and  of  this  amount  Pennsylvania  yielded  more 
than  one  third.  This  State  has  practically  the  monopoly  of  the  anthracite  produc- 
tion, only  Khode  Island  and  Colorado  showing  additional  anthracite  coal-fields  and 
furnishing  but  a  small  output.  The  production  of  anthracite  coal  during  the  last 
census  year  (1879-'80)  was  somewhat  over  twenty-eight  million  tons,  thus  making 
the  entire  coal  production  of  the  country  a  little  more  than  seventy-one  million  tons. 
Against  this  must  be  placed  the  production  of  England  for  the  same  period,  amount- 
ing to  more  than  twice  the  amount  of  coal,  taken  from  one  fiftieth  the  surface  of 
coal-beds.  This  shows  the  desperate  energy  with  which  the  English  coal-mines  are 
worked,  the  enormous  depth  to  which  they  are  carried,  and  their  approaching  exhaus- 
tion. It  is  believed  by  some  mineralogists  that  the  extent  of  coal-fields  in  our  coun- 
try, including  those  which  have  not  been  opened  but  are  known  to  exist,  and  the 
lignite  or  semi-bituminous  coal,  reaches  the  astonishing  total  of  nearly  seven  hundred 
thousand  square  miles.  Coal  is  found  in  eighteen  States  and  three  of  the  Territories. 
Pennsylvania  leads,  with  a  product  valued  at  about  fifty-eight  million  dollars ;  next 
in  importance  is  Illinois,  producing  nearly  nine  million  dollars  in  value  ;  and  then 
Ohio,  nearly  eight  million  dollars. 

It  is  a  singular  fact,  in  the  economy  of  nature,  that  iron  and  coal  are  so  often 
found  in  close  vicinage.  These  two  most  useful  of  the  products  of  the  subterranean 
earth  are  essential  to  each  other,  and  it  is  fortunate  that  they  are  so  frequently  placed 
in  conjunction.  The  great  wealth  of  Pennsylvania  is  due  to  the  fact  that  she  has  such 
enormous  deposits  of  coal  and  iron  lying  almost  side  by  side.  Iron  has,  of  all  the 
metals,  been  the  most  important  in  its  influence  on  man.  It  was  not  till  iron  was 
discovered,  and  its  applications  utilized,  that  the  human  race  began  to  make  rapid  ad- 
vances in  civilization  ;  for,  by  the  use  of  iron  only,  it  was  able  to  forge  the  weapons 
and  tools  that  gave  it  complete  mastery  over  nature. 

Iron-ore  is  found  in  almost  every  section  of  the  country — sometimes  in  small, 
isolated  beds ;  sometimes  in  extensive  veins  amid  the  rocks  in  the  mountains,  between 
layers  of  limestone ;  or  in  connection  with  coal-measures.  These  ores  are  of  far 
different  qualities,  as  the  iron  happens  to  be  combined  with  various  foreign  sub- 
stances. In  fact,  iron  occurs  in  so  many  different  forms,  and  is  so  different  in  chemi- 
cal combinations,  that  no  theory  of  formation  can  cover  all  the  conditions.  In  some 
cases  the  ore  is  easily  obtained,  in  others  the  mining  is  very  difficult.  So,  too,  in  the 
process  of  smelting,  some  iron-ores  are  easily  reduced  while  others  are  very  refractory. 
Iron-ores  are  designated  according  to  their  incidental  combinations,  as  red,  black,  or 
yellow  oxides,  magnetic,  specular,  hematite,  etc.  In  New  England  the  ore  is  pretty 
widely  scattered,  but  is  found  in  limited  quantities.  It  is  generally  magnetic,  and  of 
the  finest  quality,  but  the  fuel  necessary  to  smelt  the  ore  is  not  easy  of  access.  In 


596  OUK  NATIVE  LAND. 

New  York  State  on  Lake  Champlain,  and  in  the  adjoining  Adirondack  Mountains, 
great  beds  of  excellent  iron  are  found,  and  the  ores  are  smelted  by  means  of  char- 
coal. Remarkable  deposits  are  also  found  in  Orange  County,  which  yield  an  iron 
much  like  the  celebrated  Dannemora  iron  of  Sweden.  New  Jersey  is  rich  in  magnetic 
ores,  which  seem  to  be  practically  unlimited  in  extent,  and  as  they  are  within  easy 
reach  of  the  Pennsylvania  coal-region,  and  have  an  abundance  of  limestone  near  by, 
they  are  deemed  very  valuable.  But  Pennsylvania  stands  pre-eminent  above  all  other 
States  ;  for  her  inexhaustible  beds  of  the  finest  iron  exist  under  the  most  favorable 
possible  conditions  for  working.  Iron-ore  is  found  in  this  State  almost  everywhere, 
amid  the  hard  rocks  in  the  mountains,  in  the  valleys  along  their  base,  and  in  isolated 
beds  and  lumps  far  away  in  the  great  limestone  valleys.  As  we  pass  along  the 
mountain-range  of  the  Alleghanies  toward  the  south,  we  find  on  both  slopes — east 
and  west  sides — more  or  less  deposits  of  iron-ore,  with  the  accompaniments  of  coal 
and  limestone.  On  the  east  side  is  the  long  valley  under  its  several  names — Cumber- 
land, Shenandoah,  and  Tennessee — extending  from  the  Lehigh  to  the  Chattahoochee  ; 
and  on  the  west  side  is  a  similar  valley  stretching  from  near  the  New  York  State 
line  far  into  West  Virginia.  The  great  iron-region  of  Virginia  is  in  the  limestone 
of  the  valley  between  the  Blue  Ridge  and  the  main  range.  The  deposits,  mainly 
hematite,  magnetic,  and  red  oxides,  are  very  extensive,  though  never  very  deep.  A 
large  belt,  stretching  northeast  and  southwest  across  the  State,  is  also  rich  in  the 
production  of  this  metal,  and  contains  every  variety  of  ore  suitable  for  making  iron 
and  steel.  West  Virginia  is  no  less  rich  in  coal  and  iron  beds,  and  here  is  said  to 
exist  the  best  smeltmg-coal  in  the  world.  Western  North  Carolina  and  the  Cumber- 
land Mountains  of  Tennessee  do  not  yield  even  to  Pennsylvania  in  the  character  and 
extent  of  the  iron-beds,  though  they  are  as  yet  comparatively  unworked. 

The  Alleghanies,  in  connection  with  their  outspurs,  stand  unrivaled  in  the  world 
for  their  immense  stores  of  coal  and  iron,  and  also  for  an  abundance  of  limestone, 
so  indispensable  in  smelting  iron.  What  a  contrast  do  they  present  to  the  Alps,  so 
barren  of  these  all-important  minerals  !  Even  comparing  the  Andes,  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  and  the  Sierra  Nevadas,  so  rich  in  gold  and  silver,  with  them,  how  insig- 
nificant in  their  real  value  to  man  do  the  former  seem  ! 

In  Missouri  are  found  two  very  interesting  iron  deposits,  known  as  Iron  Mount- 
ain and  Pilot  Knob.  These  elevations,  of  about  six  hundred  feet,  cover  immense 
veins  of  very  pure  iron-ore,  yielding  from  sixty  to  seventy  per  cent  of  metal.  It  is 
believed  that  one  tenth  of  the  bulk  of  these  mountains  is  pure  iron.  If  we  go  up 
to  Lake  Superior,  we  find  the  ore  existing  under  peculiar  conditions.  Hitherto  we 
have  noticed  it  accompanied  by  coal  and  limestone.  Neither  exists  in  the  Lake 
Superior  region,  yet  the  ore  is  found  in  great  quantities,  and  of  very  rich,  pure 
quality.  These  ores  are  not  worked  much  on  the  spot,  but  transported  south  to 
Chicago,  Detroit,  Pittsburg,  etc.,  where  they  are  mixed  with  others,  for  experience 
has  shown  the  great  value  of  blending  the  different  qualities  of  ore  in  produc- 
ing special  kinds  of  iron  and  steel.  All  through  the  vast  region  of  the  Rocky 


OUR   NATURAL   RESOURCES.  597 

Mountains  iron  is  found  in  detached  quantities,  but  not  to  any  very  important  ex- 
tent. Geologists  say  that  the  United  States  possesses  more  than  double  the  amount 
of  the  minerals,  coal  and  iron,  contained  in  all  the  other  portions  of  the  world 
combined.  According  to  the  census  of  1880,  the  total  product  of  the  iron-mines  of 
the  country  in  ore  was  7,971,406  tons,  and  the  value  $23,167,007.  The  make  of 
pig-iron  out  of  this  product  was  4,295,414  tons,  produced  by  six  hundred  and 
eighty-one  blast-furnaces,  a  gain  of  eighty-four  per  cent  over  the  products  of  1870. 
It  does  not  come  within  the  objects  of  this  article  to  deal  specifically  with  manufac- 
tures, but  it  is  well  enough  to  remind  the  reader  that  this  primary  production  of  pig- 
iron  from  the  ore  takes  but  a  very  small  fraction  of  the  investment  of  capital  and 
labor  involved  in  the  iron  and  steel  products  of  the  country. 

We  shall  next  consider  the  resources  of  the  United  States  in  the  precious  metals, 
gold  and  silver,  which,  however  great,  are  of  vastly  less  importance  than  coal  and 
iron.  The  Eastern  gold-field,  belonging  to  the  Alleghany  range,  includes  small  por- 
tions of  North  and  South  Carolina,  Georgia,  and  Virginia.  But  it  is  of  trifling 
value  as  compared  with  the  deposits  of  the  Sierra  Nevadas  and  the  Rocky  Mountains. 
The  gold-bearing  veins  of  California  are  parallel  to  each  other  and  to  the  Sierra 
Nevadas,  except  a  few  of  the  smaller  ones.  The  fissures  or  veins  seem  to  have  been 
produced  at  the  same  time  when  the  Sierra  Nevadas  were  pushed  up,  according  to 
Professor  Le  Conte.  On  the  western  slope  of  the  Sierra  Nevada,  in  California,  are 
gold-mines,  principally  in  the  basins  of  the  San  Joaquin  and  Sacramento,  while  on 
the  eastern  slopes  are  very  rich  silver-mines.  Gold  was  discovered  by  Captain  Suiter 
in  1848,  and  the  exciting  news  soon  spread  to  the  rest  of  the  country  and  to  foreign 
lands.  The  result  was  an  almost  unparalleled  rush  to  the  favored  region.  The 
placers  or  diggings  were  soon  exhausted.  Then  came  the  permanent  organizations 
of  the  mining  industry  as  conducted  by  skill  and  capital.  All  along  the  western 
slope  of  the  Sierras,  through  California  up  to  Oregon,  and  across  to  the  Coast 
Range,  are  mining  districts  not  only  in  the  ravines,  but  often  extending  to  the  very 
mountain-tops. 

By  far  the  largest  portion  of  our  gold  is  derived  from  the  auriferous  quartz.  The 
latter  is  found  in  veins  between  walls  of  barren  rock.  The  quartz  is  crushed  in 
stamp-mills,  and  the  gold  extracted  by  the  application  of  heat  and  quicksilver.  The 
gold  quartz-mines  are  almost  innumerable,  and  the  amount  of  the  metal  is  only 
limited  by  the  size  of  the  mountains  in  which  the  mines  are  located.  But,  as  the 
mines  are  pushed  deeper  into  the  mountains,  the  expense  of  mining,  of  course,  is 
greatly  increased,  though  this,  again,  is  reduced  by  greater  scientific  skill  in  con- 
ducting all  the  processes.  Yet  the  balance  of  expense  and  labor,  as  against  produc- 
tion, is  such  that  it  costs  as  much  to  earn  a  dollar  from  gold-bearing  quartz  as  from 
the  ordinary  industries  of  the  land.  Gold  is  found  also  in  Oregon  and  AVashington 
Territory,  though  the  interest  is  not  greatly  developed  there.  East  of  these  gold- 
fields  are  those  of  Idaho  Territory,  where  some  of  the  richest  gold  deposits  of  the 
country  are  found.  Many  of  these  lodes  contain  both  gold  and  silver.  The  most 


598  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

celebrated  of  the  last-named  deposits  is  in  War  Eagle  Mountain,  which  rises  two 
thousand  feet.  This  is  as  famous  in  its  way  as  Iron  Mountain,  Missouri,  for  its 
iron-ore.  The  lodes  here  contain  about  two  parts  of  gold  to  seven  of  silver,  increasing 
in  width  and  richness  as  they  extend  perpendicularly  into  the  mountain.  Colorado 
lias  also  important  mines  of  gold-bearing  quartz,  which  have  succeeded  the  placer-dig- 
gings, once  exceedingly  rich.  Indeed,  Leadville,  now  celebrated  for  its  silver  produc- 
tion, was  once  known  as  California  Gulch,  and  yielded  largely  of  placer-gold.  Other 
important  gold-bearing  regions  are  Nevada  and  Montana,  Dakota,  and  Wyoming  Terri- 
tories, and  this  most  precious  of  the  metals  is  also  found  in  Arizona,  Utah,  and  New 
Mexico.  The  gold  yield  of  the  United  States  for  the  year  1880-'81,  according  to 
the  estimate  of  the  Director  of  the  Mint,  was  $36,500,000,  of  which  California  pro- 
duced very  nearly  one  half.  Recent  developments  appear  to  indicate  that  Arizona 
and  New  Mexico  are  exceedingly  rich  in  gold  deposits,  and  that  they  are  destined  to 
be  among  the  most  important  sections  in  the  country  for  auriferous  use.  It  seems  to 
be  unquestionable  that,  great  as  the  gold  yield  of  the  United  States  has  been  for  the 
last  thirty-five  years,  the  future  production  will  be  even  greater,  and  remain  a  perma- 
nent industry  for  many  years.  The  demand  for  gold  and  silver,  as  applied  to  mani- 
fold manufacturing  uses,  has  been  greatly  increased  and  promises  a  still  further  ex- 
tension. 

The  silver-bearing  region  lies  almost  universally  within  the  same  bounds  as  the  gold 
country.  The  States  of  Nevada  and  Colorado  stand  pre-eminent  for  their  great  yield. 
Nevada  mines  of  the  greatest  value  lie  on  the  eastern  slope  of  the  Sierra  Nevada 
Mountains  and  on  the  western  side  of  the  Great  Basin.  Most  of  these  mines  carry  a 
small  proportion  of  gold  to  their  silver.  The  most  celebrated  lode  of  argentiferous 
or  silver-bearing  quartz  ever  found  is  known  as  the  Comstock.  This  and  other  lodes 
running  parallel  with  it  are  at  or  near  Virginia  City,  and  they  run  down  into  the 
mountain  farther  than  any  one  can  tell.  There  are  about  one  hundred  companies 
alone  on  the  Comstock  lode,  and  the  workings  have  been  carried  down  to  a  great 
depth.  Owing  to  the  excessive  heat,  the  flooding  of  the  waters  through  the  lower 
levels,  and  the  great  expense  of  getting  out  the  quartz,  the  yield  of  late  years  has 
been  greatly  reduced,  though  the  silver-bearing  veins  are  believed  to  be  richer  than 
ever.  To  ventilate  the  shafts,  pump  out  the  water,  and  facilitate  the  getting  out  of 
the  ore,  the  "Sutro  Tunnel"  was  made  some  years  ago.  This  enters  the  mountains 
two  thousand  feet  below  Virginia  City,  or  the  opening  of  the  mines,  and  three  thou- 
sand five  hundred  feet  below  the  top  of  Mount  Davidson.  The  tunnel  is  nearly  five 
miles  long,  with  many  lateral  branches  and  galleries.  Though  its  effect  has  not  been 
so  far  commensurate  with  its  purpose,  it  is  by  no  means  improbable  that  it  may  yet 
carry  the  Comstock  mines  back  to  their  original  value.  The  total  yield  of  the  Com- 
stock lode  has  been  more  than  $100,000,000. 

The  most  important  recent  development  in  silver-mining  is  that  of  Leadville,  a 
mountain  town  in  the  western  central  portion  of  Colorado.  -Here  the  ore  occurs  for 
the  most  part  in  the  form  of  lead  carbonates,  and  it  is  very  easily  mined  and  smelted, 


OUR  NATURAL   RESOURCES.  599 

as  well  as  very  rich  in  its  production  of  silver.  Leadville  and  its  vicinity  have  proved 
to  be  great  facts  in  the  American  mining  industry,  and  the  amount  of  silver  already 
taken  out  of  its  hills  makes  it  almost  a  rival  of  Virginia  City  in  its  palmiest  days. 
The  area  of  the  now  known  gold  and  silver  fields  of  the  United  States  occupies 
about  one  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  square  miles.  This  resource  of  wealth  has 
a  most  important  influence  on  the  commerce  and  civilization  of  the  world,  as  the 
precious  metals,  of  course,  furnish  the  medium  of  exchange  between  the  nations. 
Their  eifect  is  felt  far  beyond  the  limits  of  our  own  country.  The  total  production 
of  silver  in  the  United  States  for  1881  was  $42,100,000  ;  that  of  gold,  $36,500,000 — 
making  the  total  $78,600,000.  The  total  production  of  the  world  for  the  year  1875 
was,  according  to  a  well-known  German  statistician,  $186,402,817.  Allowing  an  in- 
crease to  the  amount  of  $200,000,000  during  the  last  five  years,  it  will  be  seen  that 
the  United  States  furnishes  the  world  more  than  one  third  of  its  supply  of  the 
precious  metals.  And  as  the  development  of  our  mines  has  been,  and  promises  to 
be,  exceedingly  rapid,  there  seems  a  fair  prospect  that  we  shall,  before  long,  far  sur- 
pass this  ratio. 

After  coal  and  iron,  and  gold  and  silver,  the  mining  of  copper  and  lead  is  of  the 
most  importance.  Copper,  although  found  in  limited  quantities  along  the  eastern 
slope  of  the  Alleghanies,  in  a  few  of  the  Western  Territories,  and  in  Idaho,  is  princi- 
pally derived  from  the  wonderful  mines  of  the  Lake  Superior  region  of  the  State  of 
Michigan,  known  as  the  Upper  Peninsula.  Here  are  found  vast  masses  of  almost 
pure  copper,  which  yield  an  apparently  inexhaustible  supply.  Isle  Royale,  in  Lake 
Superior,  forty-five  miles  long,  twelve  miles  wide,  and  averaging  about  three  hundred 
feet  high,  is  a  mass,  it  might  be  said  without  much  exaggeration,  of  nearly  pure  metal, 
and  some  of  the  headlands  of  Michigan,  as  they  project  into  the  lake,  are  of  similar 
constitution.  These  mines  are  very  extensively  worked,  and  are  sufficient  to  supply 
not  only  the  United  States,  but  the  world,  with  copper  for  a  practically  indefinite 
period.  The  total  output  of  the  copper-mines  of  Lake  Superior  for  the  year  1881 
was  34,102  tons,  the  value  of  which  was  $13,640,800 ;  and  the  rest  of  the  copper 
produced  in  the  country  would  probably  increase  this  amount  to  $15,000,000.  Lead, 
also,  a  very  valuable  metal  in  the  useful  arts,  is  found  in  many  portions  of  the 
United  States,  often  in  conjunction  with  other  metals,  specially  copper  and  silver. 
The  main  deposits  are  those  of  the  Mississippi  Valley.  One  of  these  lead-fields  occu- 
pies an  area  of  four  thousand  eight  hundred  square  miles,  and  a  goodly  portion  of 
three  States — Wisconsin,  Illinois,  and  Iowa.  Galena,  Illinois,  is  the  most  important 
locality  of  this  region,  and  here  alone  is  sufficient  lead  to  supply  the  country  for  an 
indefinite  period.  Another  important  field  of  lead-mining  covers  a  large  portion  of 
Missouri  and  Arkansas,  where  there  are  vast  deposits,  though  lying  at  a  great  depth  ; 
but  the  richness  of  the  ore  fully  compensates  for  the  extra  expense  of  shafts  and 
for  freeing  the  mines  of  water.  Bmaoft  Libran 

Attention  has  been  called  to  the  curious  provision  of  Nature,  according  to  which  coal 
and  limestone,  so  essential  to  the  smelting  of  iron,  are  found  in  close  proximity  to  the 


600  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

latter-named  metal,  specially  in  the  great  State  of  Pennsylvania.  So,  too,  in  California, 
the  principal  gold-yielding  State  of  the  country,  we  find  quicksilver,  so  indispensable 
to  the  treatment  of  the  precious  metal,  close  to  the  gold-bearing  lodes.  Quicksilver 
has  such  an  affinity  for  gold  that  it  seizes  it  with  the  grip  of  a  miser,  and  only  in; 
tense  heat  can  free  the  hold.  So  this  most  volatile  of  the  metals  is  a  very  important 
agent  in  the  hands  of  the  gold-smelter.  The  richest  and  largest  quicksilver  or 
mercury  mines  in  the  world  are  found  at  New  Almaden,  California,  inside  of  the  Coast 
Eange  of  hills.  The  ore  is  brought  up  out  of  the  shaft  in  buckets,  and  in  the 
primitive  state  it  is  known  as  cinnabar,  having  the  dull-red  color  of  bricks.  By  the 
action  of  intense  heat  the  mercury  exudes  from  the  ore  in  the  form  of  vapor,  which 
is  passed  into  a  chamber  designed  for  the  purpose,  where  it  is  cooled  and  condensed. 
The  metal  then  trickles  down  the  side  of  the  chamber,  and  it  is  drawn  off  into  a 
reservoir.  Thence  it  is  taken  and  put  in  iron  flasks,  for  glass  ones  would  not  hold 
it,  and  is  then  ready  for  the  market.  The  production  of  quicksilver  is  quite  limited. 
In  addition  to  the  New  Almaden  mines,  there  are  a  few  spots  in  the  United  States 
where  it  is  found  in  limited  quantities,  and  outside  of  this  country  it  is  only  discov- 
ered in  workable  amounts  in  Peru,  Spain,  and  Austria. 

The  minor  metals,  such  as  tin,  platinum,  zinc,  nickel,  etc.,  are  only  found  in  a 
few  places,  and  in  limited  quantities,  but  there  is  one  product  of  the  deep  bowels  of 
the  earth  for  which  the  United  States  is  distinguished  above  all  other  countries. 
This  is  petroleum.  The  origin  of  this  natural  coal-oil  is  still  a  mooted  question 
among  scientists.  Some  claim  that  it  is  produced  wherever  bituminous  coal  has  been 
subjected  to  high  temperature  and  pressure,  just  as  the  same  oil  is  obtained  by  the 
distillation  of  coal.  Others  say  it  is  the  result  of  a  peculiar  decomposition  of  organic 
substances.  Others,  again,  insist  that  it  is  the  product  of  sea-plants  under  salt-water. 
Whichever  theory  may  be  true,  the  origin  of  bitumen  and  petroleum  is  clearly  con- 
nected with  that  of  coal,  so  far  as  similarity  of  general  processes  is  concerned. 

There  are  three  classes  of  oils,  the  upper,  middle,  and  lower.  The  first  are  heavier 
and  thicker,  and  most  valuable,  as  their  volatile  elements  have  escaped  through  the 
soil,  they  being  near  the  surface.  The  middle  oils,  found  at  a  depth  of  from  three 
to  six  hundred  feet,  are  most  abundant.  At  this  depth  they  exist  as  naphtha  ;  at  a 
still  greater  depth,  say  a  thousand  feet,  they  exist  as  gas.  The  strata  of  rocks  in 
which  oil  deposits  exist  are  horizontal,  and  in  their  long,  irregular,  and  sometimes 
narrow  crevices,  the  oil  is  found  in  reservoirs,  like  pockets,  in  which  ores  are  often  de- 
posited. These  reservoirs  are  often  exhausted  by  the  pumps.  When  the  boring-auger 
strikes  the  water  or  the  oil  first,  if  they  are  in  connection  with  gas,  the  expan- 
sion of  the  latter  frequently  forces  them  to  the  surface.  But,  if  the  gas  is  reached 
first,  the  explosion  and  rush  to  the  surface  are  often  of  terrific  violence.  When  this 
pressure  of  gas  is  exhausted,  the  oil  has  to  be  pumped  up.  The  gas,  oil,  and  water 
are  always  found  arranged  according  to  their  specific  gravity.  The  oil  is  conducted 
from  the  tanks,  where  it  is  temporarily  kept  at  the  place  of  production,  by  means 
of  pipe-lines,  often  hundreds  of  miles  long,  to  the  great  storage-reservoirs,  in  such 


OUR   NATURAL   RESOURCES.  601 

cities  as  Pittsburg,  Cleveland,  etc.  Thence  it  is  shipped  to  all  parts  of  the  world  in 
barrels. 

The  most  productive  region  so  far  discovered  is  in  Northwestern  Pennsylvania, 
where  immense  quantities  have  been  obtained  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Alleghany  Eiver 
and  its  branches.  West  Virginia,  particularly  the  Little  Kanawha  Valley,  is  also 
specially  rich  in  oil.  It  is  found  in  Kentucky,  Michigan,  Northeastern  Ohio,  Colo- 
rado, California  all  the  way  from  Los  Angeles  to  Cape  Mendocino,  and  in  Oregon. 
A  very  rich  oil-bearing  region,  greatly  resembling  that  of  Pennsylvania,  has  lately 
been  found  in  Canada.  Throughout  these  regions  are  numerous  locations  where  oil 
may  be  found,  and  wells  as  rich  as  any  that  have  ever  been  worked.  Eeservoirs  im- 
mensely copious  are  continually  being  opened,  and  the  supply  to-day  is  about  twice  as 
great  as  the  demand.  But  the  applications  of  petroleum  in  new  ways  are  continually 
enlarging,  and  we  may  hope  for  the  time  when  the  demand  will  come  up  to  the  sup- 
ply, as  copious  as  the  latter  appears  to  be.  Our  country  has  practically  the  monopoly 
of  the  oil-supply  so  far,  though  rich  oil-fields  have  lately  been  found  in  various  parts 
of  Europe.  Geology  tells  us  that  the  oil-bearing  strata  of  rocks  in  the  United  States 
cover  an  area  of  about  two  hundred  thousand  square  miles.  This  would  make  it 
probable  that  we  hold  in  reserve  a  practically  unlimited  wealth  of  petroleum,  and 
that  in  the  future,  as  in  the  past,  we  may  expect  it  to  be  found  when  it  is  needed. 
Some  idea  of  the  enormous  production  of  oil  may  be  had  from  the  amount  of  the 
export  in  1881  :  this  was  nearly  forty-one  million  dollars.  The  domestic  consump- 
tion was  even  more,  and,  as  the  amount  yielded  far  surpasses  that  used,  it  is  probable 
that  the  oil-wells  of  the  country  produce  upward  of  one  hundred  and  twenty  mill- 
ion dollars  annually  in  value. 

In  the  various  minerals  and  stones  used  in  building  and  the  mechanic  arts  (other- 
wise than  those  already  mentioned),  such  as  plumbago,  kaolin,  slate,  granite,  marble, 
asbestus,  various  kinds  of  sandstone  and  marble,  etc.,  the  country  is  amply  rich  for 
all  its  domestic  needs,  and  probably  always  will  be,  as  the  supply  is  practically  unlim- 
ited, and  is  found  pretty  generally  distributed  through  the  various  States. 

In  reviewing  the  natural  resources  'of  our  country,  we  must  not  overlook  the  value 
taken  from  the  sea  and  the  fresh  waters.  Aside  from  the  uses  of  our  rivers  and 
lakes  as  affording  facilities  for  travel  and  freightage,  and  the  small  streams,  ponds, 
brooks,  etc.,  as  furnishing  water  for  household  purposes,  the  immense  benefit  of  our 
fresh  waters  in  the  form  of  ice  is  worth  considering.  Ice  fifty  years  ago  was  a  lux- 
ury, now  it  is  a  necessity.  Without  considering  its  importance  in  making  water 
cold  and  palatable  during  our  hot  summers,  its  utility  in  the  preservation  of  food  is 
very  great.  Fish,  fruits,  and  meats  can  now  be  transported  thousands  of  miles  in 
perfectly  fresh  condition,  and  industries  of  great  value  have  thus  been  made  by  the 
cheapness  and  large  supply  of  ice,  created  by  our  cold  winters.  California  fruits  are 
put  in  the  New  York  market  in  perfect  condition  ;  fish  can  be  brought  from  the 
Gulf  of  Mexico,  and  dressed  beef  conveyed  to  Europe.  We  read  that  Lucullus  and 
Apicius  had  fish  from  the  Eastern  waters  brought  to  Italy,  at  immense  expense,  to 


602  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

serve  at  their  great  banquets.  This  luxury  is  now  within  the  reach  of  the  average 
man  at  only  a  trifling  expense.  The  man  of  moderate  income  may  serve  to  his  guests 
— pears  and  grapes  from  California ;  pompano  from  the  Gulf  of  Mexico ;  salmon  from 
the  Columbia  River ;  and  quails,  and  canvas-back  ducks,  and  turkeys,  in  midsummer, 
which  have  been  kept  for  six  months  in  refrigerating  stores.  The  use  of  ice  in  the 
preservation  of  fish  and  meat  is  so  great,  and  has  become  such  a  matter  of  fact,  that 
it  is  but  little  appreciated,  except  during  the  seasons  when  the  ice-crop  is  poor. 

But  it  is  as  a  store-house  of  food  that  the  waters  both  salt  and  fresh  are  of  the 
most  importance.  The  ocean  waters  laid  under  contribution  extend  from  Eastport, 
Maine,  to  the  mouth  of  the  Rio  Grande,  and  from  San  Diego  Bay,  Southern  California, 
to  Fuca  Straits.  The  Atlantic  waters,  and  the  bays  and  sounds  connected  therewith, 
swarm  at  all  times  with  fish  ;  while  at  certain  seasons  come  countless  shoals  from  the 
depths  of  the  ocean  to  feed  on  the  banks  or  shallows,  or  to  run  up  the  rivers  for 
spawning  purposes.  The  Banks  of  Newfoundland  and  St.  George's  Shoals  are  feeding- 
grounds  for  innumerable  quantities  of  codfish,  and  hither  resort  great  numbers  of  fishing- 
smacks.  Off  the  shores  of  the  Northern  United  States  and  of  Nova  Scotia  American 
fishermen  capture  immense  quantities  of  the  staple  food-fishes,  such  as  herring,  mack- 
erel, and  cod.  There  have  been  taken  in  a  single  year  nearly  half  a  million  barrels  of 
mackerel,  and  a  much  greater  catch  of  cod.  In  this  business  there  are  employed  not 
less  than  ten  thousand  men,  and  a  large  number  of  sloops  and  schooners.  In  New 
Englaria  especially,  fisheries  are  very  extensively  carried  on.  Gloucester,  Massachusetts, 
and  then  Marblehead,  are  the  leading  cities  in  this  branch  of  industry.  Here  single 
firms  have  not  less  than  half  a  million  dollars  invested  in  the  business.  Gloucester 
alone  sends  out  about  five  hundred  vessels  to  fish  for  cod,  mackerel,  and  halibut. 
The  product  of  the  New  England  fisheries  some  years  reaches  the  sum  of  twenty  mill- 
ion dollars,  including  in  this  estimate  everything  coming  out  of  the  sea. 

Long  Island  Sound  and  the  shores  of  New  Jersey,  in  addition  to  these  fishes,  fur- 
nish menhaden  in  such  quantities  that  they  are  used  for  manuring  the  land  and  for 
obtaining  oil  by  pressure.  Until  recently  they  have  not  been  used  as  a  food-fish, 
though  the  flesh  is  sweet  and  good,  on  account  of  the  great  number  of  bones  ;  but  a 
method  has  been  recently  devised  of  extracting  the  bones  by  machinery,  and  they  are 
now  put  up  in  oil,  like  the  French  and  Italian  sardines,  which  they  rival  in  excellence. 
In  the  spring  months  the  lower  portions  of  the  rivers  flowing  into  the  Atlantic,  from 
the  Connecticut  to  the  rivers  of  North  Carolina,  and  the  adjacent  bays  and  sounds, 
swarm  with  shad.  These  are  eaten  in  great  quantities  by  the  people  of  adjoining 
cities,  packed  in  ice  for  inland  transportation,  or  salted  for  winter  use.  The  North 
Carolina  coast  is  also  exceedingly  prolific  in  herring,  and  at  the  mouth  of  the  Chowan 
River  three  hundred  thousand  are  sometimes  taken  at  a  single  catch.  Fish  in  great 
variety  and  abundance,  many  of  them  the  choicest  for  epicurean  taste,  abound  in  the 
northern  waters  of  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  and  in  the  lower  portions  of  the  Mississippi 
River.  Fish  commissioners  have  been  appointed  by  the  United  States  and  by  the 
several  States,  to  advance  fish-culture,  and  in  addition  to  these  are  many  private  asso- 


OUR  NATURAL   RESOURCES.  603 

ciations.  The  result  of  this  scientific  effort  has  been  to  vastly  increase  the  supply 
of  certain  important  fishes.  The  catch  of  shad,  for  example,  has  been  nearly  doubled 
within  the  last  ten  years.  The  indications  are  that  this  intelligent  study  of  fish 
propagation  will  be  of  incalculable  value  to  the  country. 

The  fisheries  on  the  Pacific  coast  are  also  of  enormous  value.  Puget  Sound,  some- 
times called  the  Mediterranean  of  the  North  Pacific,  is  stocked  with  a  great  variety 
of  the  finest  fish,  salmon,  cod,  herring,  halibut,  etc.  Just  off  the  Straits  of  Fuca,  the 
outlet  of  Puget  Sound,  is  a  bank  which  is  a  celebrated  feeding-ground  for  halibut. 
Here  this  fish  is  found  in  great  quantities,  of  the  largest  size  and  the  finest  quality. 
It  is  often  caught  weighing  three  hundred  pounds.  So,  too,  along  the  entire  south- 
ern coast  of  Alaska  there  are  very  prolific  fisheries  of  cod,  halibut,  and  herring.  All 
these  have  begun  to  be  of  great  use  and  value  for  export  to  Japan  and  China,  whence 
there  is  a  large  demand. 

But  the  most  important  fishery  on  the  Pacific  coast  is  that  of  the  salmon,  the 
king  of  fish.  The  Columbia  Eiver,  its  main  branch  the  Shoshone,  and  other  tribu- 
taries, are  fed  by  the  mountain  snows.  Consequently  the  water  is  distinguished  for 
its  icy  coldness  and  clearness.  These  qualities  constitute  a  great  attraction  for  the 
salmon,  which  come  up  from  the  depths  of  the  Pacific,  from  April  to  August,  in 
countless  multitudes,  for  the  purpose  of  spawning.  Immense  fishing  and  canning 
establishments  have  been  founded  at  Astoria  and  in  the  vicinity.  The  fish  are  caught 
at  night  in  gill-nets,  for  the  water  is  so  clear  that  they  can  see  the  snare  during  the 
day-time,  and  avoid  it  by  swimming  above  or  below.  The  meshes  of  the  net  are 
made  so  large  that  only  the  fish  of  more  than  fifteen  pounds  in  weight  are  taken. 
The  salmon-meat  is  prepared  by  a  peculiar  process  and  hermetically  sealed.  It  is  then 
sent  all  over  the  world,  England  taking  the  bulk  of  the  supply.  It  is  not  unusual 
to  can  ten  thousand  tons  a  year,  and  a  like  quantity  is  shipped  fresh  to  the  Eastern 
markets  or  salted.  In  spite  of  the  vast  production,  the  demand  exceeds  the  supply, 
and  the  anticipated  product  of  the  fisheries  is  contracted  for  before  the  season  begins. 
The  fishermen  assert  that  the  number  of  the  salmon  entering  the  Columbia  and  its 
tributaries  does  not  diminish,  in  spite  of  the  enormous  catch  every  season.  It  is  said 
that  the  value  of  the  salmon  canned  at  Astoria  alone  amounts  to  three  million  dol- 
lars annually.  The  Yukon  River,  Alaska,  is  another  favorite  place  for  salmon,  and 
in  future  time  it  will  probably  be  but  little  less  important  than  the  Columbia  for  its 
fisheries. 

Not  less  valuable  than  the  fisheries  already  described  is  the  industry  engaged  in 
breeding,  propagating,  and  catching  shell-fish,  specially  the  oyster.  The  oyster-culture 
of  the  United  States  is  remarkable  in  its  value  and  extent,  and  the  demand  for  this  lus- 
cious bivalve  is  increasing  every  year.  Many  of  the  bays  and  estuaries  of  the  Atlantic 
contain  more  or  less  native  oysters,  but  their  great  center  is  Chesapeake  Bay,  where  the 
conditions  appear  to  be  peculiarly  favorable  to  them.  From  this  bay  great  quantities 
are  carried  and  planted  in  more  northern  waters.  The  oyster  when  thrown  overboard 
and  left  to  itself,  under  favorable  conditions,  easily  obtains  food,  and  in  due  time 


604  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

becomes  large  and  fat.  All  the  small  bays  and  inlets  about  New  York  City,  specially 
Long  Island  Sound,  the  New  England  coast  as  far  north  as  Boston,  and  the  New 
Jersey  coast,  are  celebrated  for  the  number  and  excellence  of  their  oyster-beds.  The 
fishery  of  oysters  along  the  coast  north  of  the  Maryland  shore  amounts  to  not  less 
than  twenty  million  dollars  in  annual  value,  and  that  of  the  Chesapeake  Bay  and  the 
Virginia  waters  is  probably  much  greater.  It  would  be  safe  to  estimate  the  yearly 
production  of  oysters  in  the  United  States  as  not  less  than  fifty  million  dollars, 
and  it  probably  exceeds  that  amount.  One  of  the  most  important  industries  of  Balti- 
more and  Norfolk  is  canning  oysters,  and  from  the  former  place  immense  quantities 
are  sent  in  the  shell  over  the  United  States  and  across  the  ocean  to  Europe,  South 
America,  Australia,  etc.  The  oyster-trade  of  Baltimore  is  several  times  as  valuable  as 
the  whole  wheat  product  of  Maryland.  At  Fair  Haven,  Connecticut,  is  another  great 
oyster-mart,  where  the  bivalve  is  canned  and  pickled  for  home  and  foreign  consump- 
tion, to  the  extent  of  millions  of  dollars'  worth.  Though  the  yield  of  oysters  is  very 
large,  and  a  good  deal  of  scientific  attention  has  been  given  to  their  culture,  there  is  a 
fear,  which  appears  to  be  but  too  well  founded,  that  something  further  must  be  done 
to  prevent  continued  deterioration  of  the  beds,  if  we  expect  an  oyster-supply  at  all  com- 
mensurate with  our  future  needs.  The  oyster-beds  of  New  England  and  the  Middle 
States  are  gradually  failing,  and  those  of  the  Southern  coast  do  not  show  a  much  better 
prospect.  Oysters  are  gathered  for  the  most  part  by  means  of  dredges,  or  great  iron 
sweeps.  Many  of  the  small  oysters  in  this  way  are  destroyed  or  buried  in  the  mud. 
Others  are  widely  separated  from  the  mother-bed,  and,  while  the  extent  of  the  beds 
may  be  increased,  the  yield  of  marketable  oysters  is  greatly  diminished.  In  order 
that  the  generative  matter  of  the  male  and  female  oyster  may  come  together,  it  is 
important  that  the  oysters  shall  remain  in  a  small,  compact  bed.  If  the  spawn- 
bearing  oysters  are  very  much  decreased  in  number,  or  widely  separated,  the  chances  of 
contact  and  reproduction  are  slight.  To  these  causes  may  be  added  the  carelessness 
of  fishermen  in  throwing  over  the  star-fishes,  those  deadliest  enemies  of  the  oyster, 
when  they  are  taken  up.  Ignorance  prompts  the  oysterman  to  chop  the  star-fish 
into  pieces  and  return  the  fragments  to  the  ocean,  not  knowing  the  fact  that  every 
part  becomes  again  a  complete  star.  He  thus  increases  the  enemies  of  the  oyster 
many  fold.  The  ravages  of  the  star-fish  may  be  guessed  at  when  it  is  stated  that 
a  heavy  northeast  storm  blowing  in  a  small  army  of  these  pests  frequently  destroys 
many  acres  of  oyster-beds  in  a  few  days.  These  are  a  few  of  the  causes  which  account 
for  an  indisputable  fact.  Careful  investigations  have  been  made  within  a  few  years, 
proving  that  the  yield  of  the  oyster-beds  is  failing,  while  no  great  natural  beds  of 
oysters  are  being  discovered.  The  oyster  is  one  of  the  most  prolific  of  creatures. 
Each  mature  fish  spawns  annually  from  nine  to  sixty  million  eggs  !  This  would 
appear  to  indicate  enormous  possibilities  in  improving  the  oyster-yield,  yet  in  spite  of 
this  the  tendency  is  in  the  opposite  direction.  Professor  Mobius,  a  celebrated  author- 
ity on  this  subject,  some  years  ago  gave  this  warning :  "  In  North  America  the  oysters 
are  so  fine  and  cheap  that  they  may  be  eaten  daily  by  all  classes.  Hence  they  are 


OUR   NATURAL   RESOURCES.  005 

now,  and  have  been  for  a  long  time,  a  real  means  of  subsistence  for  the -people.  This 
enviable  fact  is  no  argument  against  the  injuriousness  of  a  continuous  and  severe 
fishery  of  the  beds.  .  .  .  But,  as  the  number  of  consumers  increases  in  America,  the 
price  will  also  surely  advance,  and  then  there  will  arise  the  desire  to  fish  the  beds 
more  closely  than  hitherto ;  and  if  they  do  not  accept  in  time  the  unfortunate  experi- 
ence of  the  oyster-culturists  of  Europe  they  will  surely  find  their  oyster-beds  impov- 
erished for  having  defied  the  bioconotic  laws."  This  time  has  already  begun,  and 
it  will  not  be  many  years  before  strict  protective  laws,  rigidly  enforced,  will  be  needed. 
There  should  be  no  good  reason,  with  proper  attention  to  the  subject,  why  the  United 
States,  with  its  enormous  extent  of  waters  favorable  for  oyster-culture,  should  not 
supply  the  world  with  this  finest  of  shell-fish.  Oyster  commissions,  made  up  of  com- 
petent scientific  and  practical  men,  similar  to  those  already  organized  for  the  pro- 
tection and  propagation  of  other  fish,  should  have  the  matter  intrusted  to  them  by  the 
national  and  State  governments.  The  result  of  neglect  and  severe  fishing  is  already 
seen  in  the  great  decrease  in  the  lobster-supply,  which  promises  to  end,  before  many 
years,  in  practical  extinction,  unless  something  is  done  to  check  the  ravages  of  igno- 
rant and  greedy  fishermen.  A  few  years  ago  the  oyster-beds  of  France  were  threatened 
as  ours  are  now,  but  the  prompt  action  of  government  has  removed  the  evil,  and  now 
the  yield  is  as  large  as  ever. 

The  whale-fishery  interest  of  this  country,  since  the  discovery  of  petroleum-oil  in 
great  quantity,  has  fallen  off  vastly,  having  decreased  from  the  tonnage  of  198,000  to 
to  that  of  about  38,000,  but  it  is  still  an  important  industry  and  is  growing  again.  The 
whales,  which  were  nearly  exterminated,  have,  owing  to  a  considerable  period  of  com- 
parative immunity,  reached  again  an  abundance  which  justifies  the  investment  of  capi- 
tal in  such  ventures.  The  total  number  of  vessels  engaged  in  sea-fishing  of  all  kinds, 
including  the  oyster-fishing,  reached  for  the  year  1881  the  number  of  fifteen  thousand 
(about) ;  and,  estimating  a  crew  of  five  to  each,  this  would  give  seventy-five  thousand 
men  engaged  in  the  sea-fisheries  of  our  country.  It  would  be  fair  to  add  five  thou- 
sand to  represent  the  fishing  interests  on  the  Great  Lakes.  The  total  product  of  Ameri- 
can fisheries  for  the  same  year,  so  far  as  we  can  estimate  from  incomplete  data,  would 
not  fall  far  short  of  $150,000,000.  This  is  not  given  as  an  exact,  only  as  an  approxi- 
mate estimate. 

The  process  by  which  the  public  lands  of  the  United  States  may  be  acquired  puts 
them  within  the  reach  of  all,  even  the  poorest.  It  is  the  agricultural  interest,  after 
all,  which  is  by  far  the  greatest,  surpassing,  indeed,  all  the  rest  combined.  According 
to  the  Homestead  Law,  which  went  into  effect  on  January  1,  1863,  any  actual  settler 
twenty-one  years  of  age,  male  or  female,  the  head  of  a  family,  on  payment  of  ten  dol- 
lars, shall  be  permitted  to  "enter"  one  hundred  and  sixty  acres  of  land.  -Also  per- 
sons of  foreign  birth  may  enjoy  the  same  privilege,  provided  the  immigrant  has 
declared  his  purpose  of  becoming  a  citizen  of  the  United  States.  The  same  law  pro- 
vides that  the  homestead  shall  not  in  any  case  be  liable  for  the  payment  of  debts 
contracted  before  the  issuing  of  the  patent  thereof.  The  settler  must  be  an  actual 


606  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

occupant ;  that  is,  live  on  the  farm  and  cultivate  it  for  five  years.  On  evidence  of 
this  fact  the  Government  gives  a  title  in  fee  for  the  property;  or,  if  the  settler  dies, 
it  is  secured  to  his  children.  By  this  means,  there  are  none  so  poor  that  they  can 
not  secure  land  to  cultivate,  if  they  have  the  necessary  thrift,  industry,  and  self- 
denial  to  work  it. 

The  design  of  this  chapter  has  been  to  deal  with  the  natural  resources  of  the 
United  States  merely,  and  not  to  touch  the  vast  interests  of  manufactures  and  trade. 
We  have  seen  that  the  production  of  what  may  be  called  primary  industries,  though 
these  have  only  been  scratched  on  the  surface,  so  to  speak,  is  simply  enormous,  almost 
beyond  grasp.  In  Europe  every  resource  of  nature  is  worked  for  all  it  is  worth  with 
the  most  incessant  and  ingenious  industry.  When  in  course  of  future  time  the  same 
exactions  are  made  by  man  in  this  country,  it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  the  United 
States,  with  all  its  prodigal  variety  and  richness  of  natural  gifts,  is  easily  capable  of 
yielding  from  ten  to  twenty  fold  more  than  it  does  at  present.  Enough  has  been  said 
to  give  some  adequate  notion  of  the  capacities  of  production  existent  in  this  country, 
and  of  the  possibilities  of  the  future. 


APPENDIX. 


STATISTICS   OF  POPULATION  AND  AREA. 

I. 

POPULATION  OF  ONE  HUNDRED  OF   THE   LARGEST  CITIES   AND   TOWNS  IN 

THE  UNITED  STATES. 


CITIES. 

STATES. 

TOTAL  POPULATION. 

CITIES. 

STATES. 

TOTAL  POPULATION. 

1880. 

18*0. 

188O. 

1870. 

Albany  

New  York  
Pennsylvania  

90,758 
78,682 
37,409 
21,984 
21,891 
832,313 
20,693 
362,839 
27,643 
566,663 
155,134 
52,669 
41,659 
49,984 
21,782 
503,185 
255,139 
160,146 
51,647 
29,720 
21,831 
38,678 
35,629 
22,408 
116,340 
22,254 
28,229 
20,541 
27,737 
29,280 
48,961 
28,880 
22,248 
32,016 
30,762 
42,015 
30,999 
21,915 
75,056 
120,722 
55,785 
25,769 
39,151 
123,758 
59,475 
38,274 
32,630 
33,592 
115,587 
4I1.KS7 

69,422 
53,180 
21,789 
17,225 
15,389 
267,354 
7,064 
250,526 
18,969 
396,099 
117,714 
39,634 
20,045 
48,956 
18,547 
298,977 
218,239 
92,829 
31,274 
24,505 
20,038 
30,473 
4,759 
12,035 
79,577 
18,434 
20,832 
15,863 
19,646 
21,830 
26,766 
17,718 
13,813 
16,507 
23,104 
37,180 
20,297 
10,733 
48,244 
82,546 
32,280 
20,233 
28,921 
100.753 
40,928 
28,233 
23,536 
40,226 
71,440 
13.066 

Mobile 

Alabama 

29,132 
43,350 
136,508 
26,845 
62,882 
216,090 
20,433 
1,206,299 
21,966 
34,555 
30,518 
21,116 
51,031 
29,259 
21,656 
847,170 
156,389 
33,810 
20,207 
104,857 
27,268 
43,278 
63,600 
89,366 
21,420 
32,431 
350,518 
41,473 
27,563 
20,768 
20,550 
233,959 
30,709 
45,850 
24,933 
19,743 
33,340 
20,730 
51.792 
21,213 
26,042 
50,187 
29,910 
56,747 
33,914 
147,293 
80,737 
23,339 
42,478 
58,291 

32,084 
25,865 
105,059 
21,320 
50,840 
191,418 
15,087 
942,292 
19,229 
10,500 
16,083 
20,910 
33,579 
22,849 
18,950 
674,022 
86,076 
31,418 
20,080 
68,904 
24,052 
33,980 
51,088 
62,386 
16,283 
19,565 
310,864 
20,030 
24,117 
12,854 
12,256 
149.473 
28,235 
35,092 
14,685 
17,364 
26,703 
12,652 
43,051 
18,629 
16,103 
31,584 
22,874 
46,465 
28,804 
109,199 
19,280 
10,174 
30,841 
41,105 

Nashville  

Tennessee  

Atlanta 

Newark 

New  York  

New  Bedford  

Massachusetts    . 

Baltimore  

Maryland  

New  Orleans  

Louisiana  

Newport  
New  York  

Kentucky  
New  York.  . 

Norfolk 

Oakland  

California.      .  . 

Buffalo  

New  York  

;  Omaha  
Oswego 

Nebraska  
New  York. 

Paterson  

New  Jersey  

Charleston  
Chelsea 

South  Carolina  

Illinois 

Petersburg  
Philadelphia 

Virginia  

Illinois 

Cincinnati 

Ohio 

Pittsburg.     '             '  Pennsylvania.   . 

Cleveland  

Ohio  
Ohio.. 

Portland  !  Maine  . 
Poughkeepsie  New  York 

Covington  

Kentucky  

Providence  Rhodft  Island  

Quincy  .              .         '•  Illinois 

Dayton 

Ohio. 

;  Reading.  .  . 

Pennsylvania  
Virginia  

Denver  i  Colorado  

Richmond  

Dee  Moines  
Detroit  

Iowa  
Michigan  
Iowa  

Sacramento                 California  

St.  Joseph                    Missouri  

Elizabeth  

New  Jersey  
New  York  . 

St  Louis 

St.  Paul 

Minnesota  

Erie  

Pennsylvania  
Indiana 

Salem  

Massachusetts  
Utah  

Salt  Lake  City 

Fall  River 

Massachusetts  
Indiana 

San  Antonio  
San  Francisco  

Fort  Wayne 

California  

Texas 

Grand  Rapids  

Michigan     .  . 

Scranton                       Pennsylvania  

Pennsylvania  

Massachusetts  
Illinois  
Massachusetts  
Ohio  
New  York  
Massachusetts  
Indiana  

Hartford 

Springfield  
Springfield  
j  Springfield  
Syracuse  

Hoboken  
Holyoke  
Indianapolis  

New  Jersey  
Massachusetts  
Indiana  

Missouri 

1  Terre  Haute  

!  Toledo      

Ohio                     .   . 

Lawrence  ...   . 

Trenton  
Troy  
Utica  

New  Jersey  
New  York  
New  York  

Louisville 

Massachusetts  
Massachusetts  
New  Hampshire.  .  .  . 
Tennessee  .... 
Wisconsin  

Lynn  

District  of  Columbia 
West  Virginia  

Wheeling  

Memphis  
Milwaukee 

Wilkesbarrc 

Wilmington  

Delaware  
Maoiirhusetts  

Minneapolis  

Minnesota  

G08 


A  PPENDIX. 

II. 

CENSUS  BY  STATES  AT  EACH  CENSUS,  1790-1880.* 


STATES   AND   TERRITORIES.                      1J9O. 

18OO. 

1M1O. 

J8*O. 

18*0. 

The  United  States  

3,989,314 

5,308,483 

7,239,881 

9.633,822 

12,856,020 

The  States               

3,939,314 

5,294,390 

7,215,858 

9,600,783 

12,820.8tW 

19 
25 

127,901        15 
14,255       2T 

309,527 
30,388 

Connecticut  

8 
16 

237.946 
59,096 

8 
17 

251,002 
64,273 

9 
19 

261,942 

73,1174 

14 
22 

275.148 

72,749 

16 
24 
25 
10 
20 
13 

297,675 
76,748 
34,730 
516,823 

l.-.T.II.-. 
343.031 

Florida 

a 

82,548 

12 

162.686 

11 
23 
21 

252.483 
12,282 
24,520 

11 
24 
18 

340,985 
55,162 
147,178 

Illinois  

20 

5,641 

Iowa  

14 

73,677 

9 

220.955 

7 
18 
14 
8 
5 
24 

406,511 
76,556 
228,705 
380,546 
472,040 
4,762 

6 
17 

a 

10 
7 
26 

584,135         li 
152,923       19 

298,269        12 
407,350        11 
523,1511         * 
8,765        26 

687,917 
215.739 
399,455 
447,040 
610,408 
31,639 

11 
6 
4 

96,540 
319,728 

378,787 

14 

5 

151.719 
341.548 
422.845 

19 

8,850 

20 
22 

40,352 

20,845 

21 
23 

75,448 
66,557 

22 
21 

130.S21 
140,455 

Missouri  

Nevada  

New  Hampshire  

10 
9 
5 
3 

141,885 
184,139 
340.120 
393,751 

11 
10 

• 

4 

18 

183,858 
211,149 
589,051 
478,103 
45,365 

16 
12 
2 
4 
13 

214,460 
245,562 
959.049 
555,500 
230,760 

15 
13 
1 
4 
5 

244,022 
277,426 
1.372.111 
638,829 
581,295 

18 
14 
1 
5 
4 

269,328 
320,823 
1.918.608 
737,987 
937,903 

New  York. 

Ohio 

3 

15 
7 
17 

434,373 

68,825 
249,073 
35,691 

2 
16 
6 
15 

602.365 
69,122 
345,591 
105,602 

3 
17 
6 
10 

810,091 
76,931 
415,115 
261,727 

3 
20 
8 
9 

1,047,507 
83,015 
502,741 
422,771 

2 

23 
9 

1,348,233 
97,199 
581,185 
681,904 

Rhode  Island 

South  Carolina  

Texas  

12 
1 

85.425 
747,610 

13 

154,465 

880,200 

15 

217.895 
974,600 

16 
2 

235,966 
1,065,116 

17 
3 

280,652 
1,211,405 

Virginia  

Wisconsin  

The  States 

3,939,214 

5,924,390 

7,815,868 

0,800,788 

12,820,868 

1     . 

Dakota.. 

District  of  Columbia 

1 

14,093 

1 

24,023 

1 

33,039 

1 

39.834 

Idaho 

Montana  .      .    . 

Utah...   . 

The  Territories 

14,093 

24,023 

33,039 

39,884 

8,929,314 

5,808,483 

7,239,881 

9,638,822 

tt.f»i.(M> 

Increase  per 
cent,  1790-1800, 
35-10. 

Increase  per 
cent,  1801-1810, 
36-38. 

Increase  per 
cent,  1810-1820. 
33-06. 

Increase  per 
cent,  1820-1830. 
82-51. 

*  The  narrow  column  under  each  census  year  shows  the  order  of  the  States  and  Territories  when  arranged  according  to  mag- 
nitude of  population. 


INDEX   OF  PLACES, 


INCLUSIVE    OF    CITIES,    TOWNS,    MOUNTAINS,    LAKES,    RIVERS,    AND    OTHER 
LOCALITIES   OF  NOTABLE  INTEREST. 


Adirondack  Mountains,  N.  Y 342  -350 

Albany,  N.  Y 61 

Alabama  River 488 

Alleghany  Mountains 360-363,  365,  368,  388 

Allegrippus,  Pa 362 

Altoona,  Pa 362 

Ammonoosuc  Hills,  N.  II 328 

Anthony's  Nose,  Hudson  River 47,  48 

Apostles,  Isles  of  the,  Lake  Superior 322 

Arkansas  River 611 

Asheville,  N.  C 372 

Ashley  River,  S.  C 480 

Astoria,  Oregon 138,  214 

Atlantic  City,  N.  J 260 

Ausable  Chasm,  Adirondacks 345 

Ausable  River,  Adirondacks 342,  345 

Au  Train,  Lake  Superior 321 

Avalanche  Lake,  Adirondacks 342 

Bad  Lands,  Wyoming  Territory 81 

Balsam  Mountain,  N.  C 371,378,382 

Baltimore,  Md 578-582 

Baton  Rouge,  La 510 

Bear  River  Valley,  Wyoming 83,  84 

Beaufort,  S  C 480 

Beaver  Bay,  Lake  Superior 324 

Big  Kanawha  River,  W.  Va 620 

Big  Sandy  River,  Ky 620 

Black  Hills 70,  72 

Black  Mountain,  N.  C 371,  372,  376 

Blennerhassett's  Island,  Ohio  River 519,  620 

Blue  Canon,  Cal 117 

Blue  Mountain  Range,  Oregon 220 

Blue  Ridge  Mountains 366,  367,  368,  370-372 

Boston,  Mass 566-571 

Boulder  Canons,  Col 435,  436 

Bozeman,  Montana 152 

Brevard,  N".  C...  .   380,  381 


Bridal  Veil  Fall,  Yosemite  Valley 464,  467,  468 

Buffalo,  N.  Y 296-298 

Cairo,  111 528 

Calaveras  Grove,  Big  Trees  of,  Cal 462,  466 

California 105-126 

Canandaigua  Lake,  N.  Y 280,  281 

Cap  of  Liberty,  Yosemite,  Cal 472,  473 

Cape  Ann,  Mass 243,  244 

Cape  Horn,  Cal 122 

Cape  Horn,  Columbia  River 217 

Cape  May,  N.  J 260 

j  Carter's  Lake,  Wyoming  Ter 81 

!  Cascade  Mountains 129,  220 

Castine,  Maine 232 

Cataract  Canon,  Colorado  River 12 

Cathedral  Rock,  Yosemite,  Cal 468 

Cathedral  Spires,  Yosemite,  Cal 468 

Catskill  Mountains,  N.  Y 61,  261-265,  350-354 

Cauterskill  Falls,  N.  Y 351,  362 

Cayuga  Lake,  N.  Y 280 

Charleston,  S.  C 480-482 

Chapel  Rock,  Lake  Superior 320 

Chattanooga,  Tenn 389 

Cheyenne  Canon,  Col 451-454 

Cheyenne,  Wyoming  Ter 67,  68,  433 

Chicago,  111 314,  315 

Chicago  Lakes,  Col 441 

Church  Buttes,  Wyoming  Ter 81 

Cincinnati,  Ohio 622-625 

Clear  Creek  Canon,  Col 436,  437 

Cleveland,  Ohio 300,  301 

Clingman's  Dome,  N.  C 372 

Cloud's  Rest,  Cal 474,  475 

Coast  Range,  Cal 136 

Cold  Spring,  N.  Y 54 

Colorado 432-460 

Colorado  River,  The  Canons  of  the 3-80 


612 


INDEX  OF  PLACES. 


Colorado  River,  The  Grand  Canon  of  the.. .   3,  5,  16-26 

Colorado  Springs,  Col 446  j 

Columbia  River,  The.   126,  138-141,  197,  198,  214-220 

Columbia  River,  Cascades  of  the 217  | 

Coney  Island,  N.  Y 258-260  [ 

Connemaugh  River,  Pa 362 

Cooper  River,  S.  C 480 

Cooperstown,  N.  Y 280 

Corinne,  Utah 100 

Cornwall,  N.  Y 59 

Corrallis,  Oregon 221,  223 

Crawford  Notch,  N.  H 276,  327 

Cro'nest,  N.  Y 55 

Cumberland  Gap,  Tenn 388,  389 

Cumberland  Mountains,  Tenn 388 

Dalles  City,  Oregon 217 

Davenport,  Iowa 534 

Delaware  Water-Gap 354-359 

Denver,  Col -. 434,  435 

Des  Moines  River,  The 533,  534 

Desolation  Canon,  Green  River 10 

Detroit,  Mich 305-307 

Devil's  Kitchen,  Yellowstone  Valley 158 

Donner  Lake,  Cal.... 108-111 

Dubuque,  Iowa 536 

Duluth,  Minn 322 

Dunderberg  Mountain 44—47 

Durango,  Col 457 

Eastern  Shore,  New  England 225-247 

Echo  Canon,  Utah 90-92 

El  Capitan,  Yosemite  Valley 466,  469,  470 

Elk  Mountain,  Wyoming  Ter 73 

Enterprise,  Fla 406 

Erie  City,  Pa 298 

Everglades,  Fla 427^31 

Firehole  River,  Yellowstone  Valley 167 

Florida 398-431 

Fort  Lee,  N.  Y 34,35 

Fort  Putnam,  N.  Y 53 

Franconia  Mountains 326,  328-331 

French  Broad  River,  N.  C 378,  380 

Gallatin  River,  Montana 152 

Garden  of  the  Gods,  Col 452-454 

Georgetown,  D.  C 582 

Georgetown,  Col 441,  442 

Georgian  Bay,  Lake  Huron 307 

Gilbert's  Peak,  Wyoming  Ter 81 

Glacier  Point,  Yosemite,  Cal 472,  473 

Gloucester,  Mass 241,243 

Gosport,  N.  II 240 

Grand  Canon,  The,  Colorado  River 16-26 

Grandfather  Mountain,  N.  C 875,  376 

Grand  Manan,  Maine 227 

Grand  Portal,  Lake  Superior 319 


Grand  River,  The,  Utah 4 

Great  American  Canon,  Cal 118 

Great  Lakes,  The 296-324 

Great  Palisade,  Lake  Superior 324 

Great  Salt  Lake 99,  100 

Great  Smoky  Mountains,  N.  C 370 

Green  Mountains,  Vt 336-341 

Green  River,  The 4,  79 

Green  River,  Canons  of  the 5-12,  79 

Green  River,  Cliffs  on  the 78,  79 

Green  River,  Giant's  Butte  on 77,  78 

Gray's  Peak,  Col 433,  444-446 

Half  Dome,  Yosemite,  Cal 474 

Harper's  Ferry,  Va 365 

Hastings,  N.  Y 36,  37 

Haverstraw,  N.  Y 42 

Hayden's  Cathedral,  Wyoming  Ter 81 

Hickory  Nut  Gap,  N.  C 371,  372 

Hoosac  Mountains,  Mass 339 

Horseshoe  Canon,  Green  River 5 

Hot  Spring  Cone,  Yellowstone  Valley 178 

Hudson  River,  The 31-63 

Hudson,  The  Highlands  of  the 43-61 

Hudson  River,  Source  of  the 63 

Humboldt  Mountains,  Nev 209-214 

Humboldt,  Nevada 103 

Humboldt  Palisades 103,  104 

Idaho  Springs,  Col 440,  441 

Indian  Pass,  Adirondacks 345 

Indian  River,  Fla 424,  425 

Inspiration  Point,  Yosemite  Valley 466 

Iowa  River,  The 534 

Iron  Mountain,  Lake  Superior 321 

Iron  Mountain,  Mo 533 

Irvington,  N.  Y 37 

Isles  of  Shoals,  The,  N.  H 238-241 

Jacksonville,  Fla 399,  400 

Juniata  River,  Pa 359-362 

Kalama,  Washington  Ter 126 

Kelley's  Island,  Lake  Erie 293,  294 

Keweenaw,  Lake  Superior 321 

Kennebunkport,  Maine 236 

Kenosha,  Wis 316 

Kcokuk,  la 532,  533 

Keuka  Lake,  N.  Y 240 

KeyWest,Fla 422,423 

King's  Mountain,  N.  C 373 

Kittanning  Point,  Pa 362 

Kittatinny  Mountains 354 

Kittery,  Maine 236 

Labyrinth  Canon,  Green  River 11 

LaCrosse,Wis 538,539 

Lake  Champlain,  N.  Y 270-272 


INDEX  OF  PLACES. 


613 


Lake  Eric 295-305 

Lake  George,  Fla 406 

Lake  George,  N.  Y 266-269 

Lake  Huron 307,  313 

Lake  Memphremagog,  Vt 272-275 

Lake  Michigan 314-318 

Lake  Okecbobee,  Fla 427-429 

Lake  Pepin,  Mississippi  River 542 

Lake  St.  Clair 307 

Lake  Superior 318-324 

Lake  Tahoe,  Cal.. 106,  107 

Lake  Winnepesaukee,  N.  H 275 

Laramie  City,  Wyoming 73 

Laramie  Plains 71,     72 

Lathrop,  Cal 462 

La  Veta  Pass,  Col 465 

Leadville,  Col 454,  455 

Liberty-Cap,  Yellowstone  Valley 157 

Linville  Mountains,  N.  C 374,  875 

Little  Colorado  River 14 

Lookout  Mountain,  Tenn 389-392 

Lodore  Canon,  Green  River 8 

Long  Branch,  N.  J 260 

Long's  Peak,  Col 433,  434 

Los  Pinos  Canon,  Col 455 

Louisiana 491-611 

Louisville,  Ky 626 

Mackinac,  Straits  of 307-313 

Madera,  Cal 462 

Madison  River 152 

Mammoth  Hot  Springs,  Yellowstone  Park. . .  .   154-157 

Manitou  Springs,  Col 447-450 

Marble  Canon,  Colorado  River 14,     16 

Marblchead,  Mass 241,  244,  246 

Marietta,  Ohio 518 

Mariposa  Grove,  Big  Trees  of,  Cal 462-466 

Marquette,  Lake  Superior 321 

Medicine  Bow  Mountains 72 

Merced,  Cal 462 

Merced  River,  Cal 461,  464 

Milton,  Cal 462 

Milton  Ferry,  N.  Y 60 

Milwaukee,  Wis 316-318 

Minnehaha,  Falls  of 646,  546 

Minneapolis,  Minn 547 

Mississippi  River,  The 491-514,  528-547 

Missouri  River,  The 528 

Missouri  River,  Great  Falls  of  the 147 

Mobile,  Ala 488 

Monhegan  Island,  Maine 232 

Monument  Park,  Col 451,  452 

Mount  Desert  Island,  Maine 227-232 

Mount  Adams,  N.  II 326 

Mount  Adams,  Oregon 214 

Mount  Crawford,  N.  H 326 

Mount  Chocorua,  N.  H 275,  336 


Mount  Davidson,  Neb 204 

Mount  Doane,  Montana 165 

Mount  Franklin,  N.  H... 326 

Mount  Jefferson,  N.  H 326 

Mount  Jefferson,  Oregon 214 

Mount  Katahdin,  Maine 326 

Mount  Kearsarge,  N.  H 275,  332,  334 

Mount  Lafayette,  N.  II 326 

Mount  Langford,  Montana 165 

Mount  Lincoln,  Col 433,  459 

Mount  Madison,  N.  II .  326 

Mount  Mansfield,  Vt 339-341 

Mount  Mitchell,  N.  C 373 

Mount  Monadnock,  N.  H 332 

Mount  Monroe,  N.  H 276 

Mount  Pisgah,  N.  C 378,  380 

Mount  Pleasant,  N.  H 326 

Mount  Ranier,  Washington  Ter 132 

Mount  St.  Helen's,  Oregon 214 

Mount  Stevenson,  Montana 155 

Mount  Tahawus,  N.  Y 342,  346-347 

Mount  Washburn,  Montana 155 

Mount  Washington,  Montana 1 65 

Mount  Washington,  N.  II 276-278,  327 

Mount  Whiteface,  N.  H 276 

Mount  Whiteface,  N.  Y 342 

Munesing  Harbor,  Lake  Superior 318 

Multonomah  Falls,  Oregon 140 

Myakka  Lakes,  Fla 426 

Nahant,  Mass 246,  247 

Narragansett  Pier,  R.  1 256 

Narrow  Canon,  Colorado  River 13 

Natchez,  Miss 510,  511 

Natural  Parks,  The,  Col 457-460 

Nevada .  .102-105,  203-214 

Nevada  Falls,  Yosemitc,  Cal 472,  476 

Newburg,  N.  Y 59 

Newburyport,  Mass 24 1 

New  Orleans,  La 496-500 

Newport,  R.  1 249-256 

New  York  City 548-564 

North  Dome,  Yosemite,  Cal 474 

Nyack,  N.  Y 37 

Niagara  Falls,  N.  Y 283-288 

North  Conway,  N.  H 276,  326 

North  Platte  River,  Neb 68 

Oakland,  Cal 123 

Ocklawaha  River,  Fla 401-406 

Ogden,  Utah  Ter 95-97 

Ogden's  Canon,  Utah  Ter 94 

Ohio  River,  The 616-628 

Old  Stone  Face,  N.  H 330 

Old  York,  Maine 236 

Olympia  Mountain,  Washington  Ter 127 

Olympia,  Washington  Ter 126 


614 


INDEX  OF  PLACES. 


Omaha 67 

Oneida  Lake,  N.  Y 280 

Ontonagon,  Lake  Superior 321 

Oregon 214-224 

Oregon  City 137 

Uribay,  Aritona 28 

Otsego  Lake,  N.  Y 279 

Owassa  River,  Ga 392-394 

Ozark  Mountains,  Mo 533 

Palatka,  Fla 400 

Palisades,  The,  N.  Y 34-42 

Panhandle,  The,  W.  Va 518 

Parkersburg,  W.  Va 620 

Pascagoula  Bay,  Miss 489,  490 

Peaks  of  Otter,  Va 367-369 

Peekskill,  N.  Y 43 

Pelouse  Falls,  Washington  Ter 141 

Peraaquid  Point,  Maine 232 

Philadelphia 572-578 

Pictured  Rocks,  Lake  Superior 318 

Piermont,  N.  Y 37 

Pilot  Knob,  Mo 533 

Pike's  Peak,  Col 433,  450,  451 

Pittsburg,  Pa   516-518 

Platte  River 76 

Point  Pleasant,  W.  Va 520 

Porcupine  Mountains,  Lake  Superior 321 

Portland,  Maine 234,  235 

Portland,  Oregon 139,  214 

Port  Royal,  S.  C 418 

Portsmouth,  N.  H 236,  238 

Potomac  River 365,  367 

Poughkeepsie,  N.  Y 60,  61 

Prairie  Du  Chien,  Wis 638 

Profile  Mountain,  N.  H 330 

Puget  Sound 127,  131,  134,  135 

Put-in-Bay,  Lake  Erie 293,  303,  304 

Pyramid  Lake,  Mo 208 

Raquette  River,  Adirondacks 342,  349 

Racine,  Wis 316 

Richfield  Springs,  N.  Y 280 

Roan  Mountain,  N.  C 372,  375,  376 

Rock  Island,  111 634 

Rocky  Mountains 67-100,  433-460 

Rogue  River  Falls,  Washington  Ter 136,  137 

Royal  Arches,  Yosemite,  Cal 474 

Sacramento,  Cal 123 

Saguenay  River 291-293 

Sail  Rock,  Lake  Superior 318 

Salem,  Mass 241,  244 

Salmon  Falls,  Columbia  River 219 

Salt  Lake  City 89,  98-100 

San  Francisco,  Cal 123,  124 

Sandusky,  Ohio 302 


Sangre  de  Cristo  Mountains,  Col 455 

San  Juan  Island,  Washington  Ter 129,  130 

San  Juan  Mountains,  Cal 455 

Saranac  River,  Adirondacks 342 

Saratoga,  N.  Y 265,  266 

Sault  Ste.-Marie,  Mich 318 

Savannah,  Ga 484-488 

Savannah  River 484 

Sa watch  Mountains,  Col 433 

Seattle,  Washington  Ter 131,132 

Sculptured  Canon,  Nev 212 

Seneca  Lake,  N.  Y 280 

Sentinel  Dome,  Yosemite,  Oal 469 

Sentinel  Rock,  Yosemitc,  Cal 468 

Shenandoah  River,  Va 365,  367 

Sherman,  Utah 69,  71 

Shoshone  Falls,  Idaho 143-146 

Sierra  Nevada  Mountains. .  105,  106,  112, 113, 119,  203, 

206-207 

Silver  Spring,  Fla 405 

Sing  Sing,  N.  Y 42 

Sioux  City  Falls,  Dakota 146 

Skaneateles  Lake,  N.  Y 280 

Sleepy  Hollow,  N.  Y 36,  40 

Smoky  Mountains,  N.  C 386-387 

Snoqualmie  Falls,  Washington  Ter..  132-134,  142,  143 

South  Carolina 478-484 

South  Dome,  Yosemite  Valley 466 

South  Mountain,  N.  Y 352 

Split  Mountain  Canon,  Green  River 10 

Spokane  Falls,  Washington  Ter 141 

St.  Anthony,  Minn 547 

Star  Peak,  Nev 209,  210 

St.  Augustine,  Fla 407-416 

Steilacoom,  Washington  Ter 129 

Stillwater  Canon,  Green  River 11 

St.  John's  River,  Fla 399,  406,  407 

St.  Louis  River,  Wis 322,  537 

St.  Louis,  Mo 530-532 

St.  Paul,  Minn 645 

Stockton,  Cal 462 

Stony  Point,  N.  Y 42,  43 

Storm  King,  N.  Y 59 

Sugar-Loaf  Mountain,  N.  Y 49 

Summit,  Cal 113 

Susquehanna  River,  Pa 359 

Swampscott,  Mass 246,  247 

Tacoma,  Washington  Ter 180,  131 

Taconic  Mountains,  Vt 339 

Tallulah  Chasm,  Ga 895-397 

TappanZec,  N.  Y 37 

Tarrytown,  N.  Y 37-40 

Tenaya  Canon,  Yosemite  Valley 464,  476 

Tennessee  River 392 

Thousand  Islands,  The,  St.  Lawrence 288-290 

Three  Brothers,  Yosemite,  Cal 470 


INDEX  OF  PLACES. 


615 


Three  Tetons  Peaks,  Rocky  Mountains 162 

Tocoi,  Fla 407 

Toledo,  Ohio 306 

Toltec  Gorge,  Col 466 

Too-lulu-wack  Fall,  Yosemite,  Cal 472 

Tombigbee  River,  Ala 488 

Tower  Falls,  Yellowstone  Valley 166 

Trempealeau,  Mississippi  River 542 

Trenton  Falls,  N.  Y 278,  279 

Trinity  Mountains,  Nev 213 

Troy.N.Y 61 

Truekee  River,  Cal 106-108,  207,  208 

Tuckerman's  Ravine,  N.  H 276 

Tuolumne  Grove,  Big  Trees  of,  Cal 462 

Utah  Territory 86-102 

Uintah  Mountains 80,  81,  91 

Vernal  Falls,  Yosemite,  Cal 462,  474 

Vicksburg,  Miss 611 

Virginia  City,  Nev 106,  108,  204 

Virgin  Tears  Fall,  Yosemite,  Cal 469 

Wahsatch  Mountains ... .  81,  94,  102 

Warsaw,   111 633 

Washington,  D.C 682-687 

Washington  Column,  Yosemite,  Cal 474 

Washington  Heights,  N.  Y 34 

Washington  Territory 125-143 


Walking  Glen,  N.  Y 282,  283 

Weber  Canon,  Utah 94 

Wells,  Maine 236,  236 

West  Point,  N.  Y 49-52 

Wheeling,  W.  Va 518 

Whirlpool  Canon,  Green  River 8 

White  Mountains,  N.  H 275-278,  326-337 

Willamette  Falls,  Oregon 137,  138 

Willamette  River,  Oregon 214,  221,  223 

Wind  River  Mountains 76,  162 

Wisconsin  River,  The 637 

Wright's  Canon,  Nev 212-214 

Yampa  Canon,  Green  River 10 

Yaquina  Valley  and  River,  Oregon 223,  224 

Yellowstone  Falls,  Montana 163-166 

Yellowstone  Lake 152,  176-178 

Yellowstone  Park,  Mammoth  Hot  Springs  of.   154—167 

Yellowstone  River,  Grand  Canon  of  the 163 

Yellowstone  Valley 148-178 

Yellowstone  Valley,  Geysers  of  the 167-175 

Yellowstone  Valley,  Mud  Springs  of  the 159,  160 

Yemassee  River,  S.  C 478 

Yonkers,N.Y 36,36 

Yosemite  Falls,  Cal 470,  474 

Yosemite  Valley,  The 461-477 

Young's  Falls,  Oregon 138,  139 

Yuba  River,  Cal 114 


THE     END. 


